The Perfect Sky
by Ammanalien
Summary: An imprisoned McKay clings to hope. Chapter 24, and the story is now COMPLETE! Thanks for all the feedback.
1. Chapter 1

"I want… to see… the sky!" he yelled. He liked to have something to yell when he had the strength. Sometimes it was just a string of barely remembered obscenities. Today it was a request that was unlikely to be met. It made him feel powerful in a strange way. Like he was still a person, a living human being. But it was getting more difficult. As days ran into weeks they were beginning to wear him down.

His eyes were squeezed shut as usual. It was better this way. He was ready for the pain as rough hands grabbed his arms and wrenched his shoulders painfully. Two or three smacks to the head later and the back of his skull hit the ground in a blinding flash of pain. They didn't seem to care what he said. They never did. As they kicked him around and ground his fingers under their boot heels, they didn't care if they heard words or screams.

A token struggle later and he was dumped back into his cell. There was a brief clatter and bang as his meal was thrown in with him. It wouldn't be touched; Rodney had decided the previous day that starvation was preferable to endless torture. They had started on his ribs, and Rodney was terrified at the thought of enduring that kind of pain again. He'd spent hours thinking of a way out for himself and considering they had taken everything he had except his clothes, starvation was all he could come up with. They didn't come for him every day but when they did he was beaten and generally roughed over, more or less for the hell of it. They never asked him anything.

He managed to pull himself to sitting and leaned heavily against the slimy wall of his prison. Sleep would come now, he could tell. The dizziness was worse every day, brought on by hunger and the regular beatings, he supposed. Rodney closed his eyes and thought of sky.

0O0

Rodney liked the sky. It was big; never oppressive, never too close; there was always room to breathe where you could see sky. God, he missed it. Missed it so much he felt like crying. Actually, he was crying. There was no sky here. There was darkness and cold, black walls. The ceiling was low and the room he was locked in was small. As he wept it occurred to him that maybe he was slowly going mad. He looked down and saw that Teyla had her arm around him now. He could almost feel it, especially if he raised his head and gazed into her sad, dark eyes. Maybe this time she would stay and not fade away into the gloomy, damp walls. Sometimes he would ask her a question or beg her to stay, but this time he just watched her quietly and let the tears slide down. She never answered his questions, only looked at him with such pity and regret that he couldn't bear it. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for sky. Prayed so hard…. and abruptly and blessedly it was there, in his mind. The clear blue sky of his first summer in college. Lying on his back against cool grass, soaking up the heat while insects buzzed and the scent of clover drifted in the air. A time when he had felt invincible, one bright spark amidst so many mediocre ones.

He awoke to rumbling and a vibration that ran through the floor and walls.

"Sky is falling, Chicken Little…" he mumbled and managed a small chuckle. Opening weary eyes he found that Teyla had indeed gone. It didn't surprise him but it gave him a pang of sadness; he was alone again. He gathered the tatters of his clothing around him, hugging himself to keep warm. He could feel a shiver run down his back, a vague tightness in the chest, and he allowed himself a moment of pure joy when he considered that contracting a serious illness would mean an even quicker release from his nightmare. Then a sun exploded right next to him and he was slammed sideways into the wall.

"Ow…" Rodney lowered his head to his hands and watched while stars sparkled and popped behind his closed eyes. Well, this was new. He wondered vaguely how this invention of his defective brain could feel so damn real – painfully real, and he rubbed at his bruised shoulder. But it couldn't be real. He had accepted the truth early on. No one was coming for him. He knew he would never see sky again.

So, when the dust settled and he saw John Sheppard standing where the wall should have been, he actually giggled. He wanted so badly to shout some witty yet biting comment across to Sheppard – something like, "Hey, why'd ya leave me?" - but found his giggles had turned into breathless, gasping laughter. Curling around himself he tried to hold together his broken ribcage.

Hands were on him now, ghost hands that felt so warm and real he almost dared to hope. He felt he ought to struggle somewhat, and he weakly batted at the air. A warm hand laid gently on his cheek, another took hold of his flapping left arm, stilling his movement. Still laughing weakly he was surprised when he felt himself firmly scooped up, coming to rest against a comfortable surface, his face pressed into something warm. He inhaled a scent that was fleetingly familiar; it calmed him and slowed his breathing. As the laughter turned once more into hitched giggles he realized his eyes were closed and he had no real strength to open them. He was drifting – through space, and in his own mind too. Again he saw the sky. This time, the deep and inky blue of that hour before daybreak as the stars begin to blink out. An alien sky he had watched so many times standing on a chilly Atlantis balcony clutching a coffee mug. Was it really so long ago that he had left his city? Left with his team, only to be abandoned and imprisoned by persons unknown for reasons unfathomable.

He could hear now a strange and unsettling sound… someone was sobbing, sobbing uncontrollably, and it scared him. His face felt cold and wet, but then careful hands wiped away the chilly moisture. He realized that he was now lying flat, on a firm but comfortable surface… and he was warm. Oh, Jesus he had not felt warm for the longest time. He was lying cocooned in soft blankets, whilst nearby, there was the murmur of friendly voices. Suddenly, he knew that the unthinkable had happened: His team had not abandoned him. He heard the crying cease and began to hear distinct voices instead, some loud and some barely a whisper.

"Hold on, buddy; almost there"

"Yes Ma'am, we have him"

"I need you to get us in the air now, Major. All possible speed."

Hands on him again. But Rodney was not afraid just thankful, so thankful.

"Hailey, try the other arm…. No, don't speak, lad…"

As he struggled for words that just would not come, a small, soft hand lightly grasped his and he knew for certain it was Teyla.

"You are on your way home, Rodney", she breathed, and he could feel her breath on his cheek as she leaned close.

He wanted to say thanks, because he never ever wanted to go back to that dreadful and sunless place. But somehow, by the time his brain and mouth had figured out how to speak again, he gasped,

"Stay….. Don't go…. "

He was fighting to breathe, and he felt the cool whisper of oxygen on his face. One hand weakly felt for the mask, the other still clutched Teyla's hand.

"Leave that there, son, you need it. Teyla? I think he means you, love"

Warm and welcome pressure on his fingers as Teyla squeezed tighter.

"I am here. I shall not leave", she said simply.

And Rodney knew that this Teyla - the real Teyla - would stay.

Carson was here too, and Sheppard…Yes, Sheppard had come for him. Who else was there?

He couldn't see a thing, which immediately struck him as strange. Why were they all sitting in the dark?

Sudden panic gripped him…

"Can't see you… W-where are you?"

"Rodney," a voice said firmly "you still have your eyes closed. Easy now, we've dimmed the lights for you "

Making a conscious and deliberate effort, Rodney forced his eyelids open and immediately saw dim but recognizable shapes.

On his left, was Carson and a gently smiling nurse. Somehow they had between the two of them managed to strip him of his rags, splint several of his fingers, hook him up to two IV's and were now administering oxygen. Flopping his head to the right, he saw Teyla at his shoulder, her face hanging above him smiling like an angel.

His head rolling back to centre he found that he was squinting down the length of a jumper, his body on the floor and his head slightly raised. It was bright and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear blurry vision. Up ahead he saw two – or was it three – hazy figures. By the familiar way they moved, he recognized both Sheppard and Ronon.

But they were not the object of his attention.

Behind them, filling the front screen and causing the figures to dim and recede, was the most beautiful, vibrantly blue sky.

Rodney smiled to himself.

He was going home.


	2. Chapter 2

I was asked about doing a sequel/prequel... and here it is.

oOo

Unbelievable.. the things people will tell you.

"Never seen him before."

"He's not here."

John, quietly seething, flashed a look across at Ronon.

Ronon… Well, Ronon just about vibrated with anger.

"Why don't we put all this aside, and you can tell us where he is", John's voice was calm and betrayed nothing of what he really felt.

The watery sunshine of the hazy, warm day spilled across the table where the Lanteans stood facing Aldonar, leader of his people. It had taken time - a long time - to get to this man. The people they had talked to were tight lipped, suspicious. Many had said that only Aldonar could speak for them and knew all that went on. A thin, weasel-faced man with strange yellow-glassed spectacles, he peered intently once more at the now dog-eared photo of the missing scientist.

He fixed Sheppard with a bleary stare, "I did not say I had seen your friend."

John planted his hands firmly and leaned slowly across the table, "You didn't have to".

Aldonar's expression hardened, "We don't want any trouble. Your friend was… unlucky. When I saw him he had already drawn the interest of the Faithful."

Aldonar remembered the day the stranger had been pointed out to him in the market square. He was waving some kind of silvery device, cursing and peering at it. Laughing to himself at the off-comer's stupidity, he had watched as the man had scurried away from the crowds and down an alleyway followed by several men wearing the tell-tale black robes of the Faithful. The captain of the guard had made to go after them, but Aldonar had stopped him with a word; what did one less stranger matter? At least the Faithful would be busy with this one for many months...

"Faithful?"

"We cast them out long ago. Religious fanatics… they believe science to be evil and the pursuit of knowledge a blasphemy. The one you seek is lost to you.", and he removed his glasses, with a sad and obviously false, sigh.

The two Lanteans straightened and exchanged determined looks.

"You're going to show us where these 'Faithful' hang out", John said.

Aldonar narrowed his eyes.

"But I told you, he is lo-"

John raised a finger, lightning fast, and snapped, "Not until _I_ say he is. Now, shall we?" , John motioned towards the door even as Ronon moved to station himself menacingly behind the astonished leader.

Aldonar must have felt the uncomfortable presence behind him as he cringed and started forward stuttering, "Yes, well, follow me..er, gentlemen".

oOo

It had been almost three weeks since Rodney McKay had been declared missing. Three weeks of searching with no sign of the scientist.

McKay had wandered - farther than usual - they hadn't been worried, he'd done it before. They were unable to contact him by radio; again, nothing really new. Only when they watched the sun going down did they feel the first twinges of disquiet. The city was busy; it had been impossible to fathom exactly where the scientist could have gone.

oOo

The path was rocky, in places it had crumbled away to become just bare mountainside. John looked down at his feet. He was tired, but strangely on edge... wound tight like a spring. Finding McKay was all that mattered now. He could hear the footfalls of the company of marines behind him. Ronon was at the rear and John himself was up front with Mahar, their guide.

They had travelled deep into the mountain range, west of the city. The encampment where Rodey was being held could only be reached by a convoluted and treacherous path through the mountains. Also, it was impossible to arrive by jumper because the compound, they were told, was actually within a cavern of massive proportions. He had ordered minimum gear and maximum fire power. That meant no tents, no fire and sleeping with boots on. It reminded John of his days in Afghanistan.

They were now entering a dense forest, a forest which Mahar had told them would bring them right to the camp of the Faithful. The mood of the Lanteans was sombre; these people had taken one of their own, they would do everything necessary to return Dr McKay to his city.

oOo

It turned out that the cave was indeed spectacular. It looked to John like a giant had taken a huge bite from the mountainside, low down enough so that from a distance the overhang looked impossible. Keeping out of sight behind trees at the edge of the forest, Sheppard peered through field glasses. He could make out a large circular building in the centre, probably a meeting hall, and several smaller huts and out buildings huddled around it. There was a wide, empty clearing in front of the camp, allowing the residents a good view of any invading force. Further out to the left, they found what they had been looking for.

The cell block, which was an ugly, gray building, was built into the solid bulk of the mountain, so that only the entrance and first few metres were fabricated. The rest was hewn into the solid rock. There were two tiny, barred windows and smoke curled out of a strange chimney that stuck out from the overhang and ducted the smoke away from the cave. There was some coming and going of men throughout the compound, but the place was hardly bustling. _Good, _thought John, with any luck McKay was their only captive and security would be lax. He swallowed hard and tried not to think about the condition the scientist could be in...

Rodney was here.

They would get him out.

Failure was not an option.

oOo

They had crept out under cover of darkness, to take up their position. Laying flat on their bellies behind a rise in the land, they had been still for over four hours now, and had watched as the sun had risen; they were close but should not be noticed.

The marines would take care of the main building and he and Ronon would go in to get Rodney. The jumper carrying Carson, Teyla and Lorne was cloaked some distance away, ready to land in the clearing when signalled to do so. They had no way of knowing how many men they could be up against, so speed and surprise would be crucial.

He heard the first sounds of the attack on the main building...an explosive charge went off and vibrated throught the ground. There was shouting and small weapons fire; the people on this planet had simple handguns and some explosives, nothing that could not be dealt with. Mahar had told them that although the Faithful professed to hating most things mechanical, they made an exception with weaponry. How convenient, thought John...

The noise was their signal to move, so he glanced over at Ronon and nodded. Ronon touched his ear piece and spoke briefly.

Then they were up and running towards their objective. John could already see off to his right, a line of men kneeling in the dirt, hands behind their heads, with his own men pointing weapons at them. Several more were stumbling dejectedly from the main building, closely followed by marines. Now he could hear more gunfire... It appeared that not all were coming so quietly.

Ronon and Sheppard burst through the door of the cell block, weapons ready... and found themselves alone in a small guard room. There was a table and two chairs and a grate at one side where a small fire barely smouldered.

It was unguarded.

In the wall facing them there was a huge, iron door, heavily studded and rusted with age. Sheppard scanned it ...

There were no bolts, not even a handle; there was, however, a key hole.

A quick search of the guard room revealed nothing - no key.

John slapped at the wall... and grimaced, "It's rock."

Ronon ran at the door but only succeeded in winding himself.

John let his eyes wander floor to ceiling...

"We'll blast it."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but we can't wait, besides we'll use a small charge.."

Thirty seconds later and John wondered if perhaps they had overestimated the quantity of c4...

The door was gone, and so was a good chunk of the solid rock wall. He and Ronon staggered through the opening, ears ringing and coughing dust from their lungs. They were standing in a chamber where there were doors to four or five individual cells. He stared open mouthed at the remains of one cell wall ...the c4 had taken out this wall too.

As the air slowly cleared, he found himself peering into the damaged cell.

He stood transfixed; a bundle of rags was in the corner, by the far wall. His heart semed to stop in his chest. He couldn't seem to move or speak...

McKay... and it _was_ McKay... was kneeling on the dirty floor hunched over, rocking and rubbing feebly at his right shoulder. John was instantly drawn to the fingers of his left hand; McKay was holding them awkwardly, was really rubbing at his shoulder with his wrist. The fingers were bloody and twisted. His stomach lurched. They had broken his fingers...

The remains of his uniform jacket, tattered and filthy, clung to his bony frame. At first it seemed like he hadn't seen the two men; then he raised his head and looked straight at John.

There was no recognition... The pale face was blank and expressionless.

John was about to speak, when McKay at last reacted ...

He began to shake, his face screwed itself up, John thought McKay was having a seizure, but that wasn't it...

That wasn't it at all...

Rodney McKay was laughing.

oOo

TBC... and thanks for reading.

I'm finding descriptive details very dificult to write. Please bear with me! I hope you liked it... leave a review if you can, they do encourage me to write quicker!


	3. Chapter 3

oOo

John Sheppard did not know it, but the image of Rodney, laughing almost hysterically, ragged and sick, surrounded by the muted sounds of battle, was one that would stay with him for weeks to come.

Now bowed over with his head in his hands, Rodney's shoulders were quaking. Quickly Sheppard moved to kneel at his side. He reached out a tentative hand and touched McKay's arm, which caused the scientist to flinch and bring his arms up.

"Rodney...?", but Rodney seemed to have forgotten who it was and began a weak struggle. John caught his wrists easily.

"Hey, hey, hey... take it easy... "

But Sheppard wasn't sure if Rodney had even heard him. McKay had slid down and was now lying on his side, curled up. Carefully releasing a wrist, John touched Rodney's cheek... it was hot. But Rodney was shivering so much that his teeth were chattering. God he was a mess... They had to get out, and get out quickly...

As John had feared, McKay was unable to help himself. Ronon would have to carry him...

"Ronon?"

The big man was by his side in an instant, and having watched from a distance, he had obviously come to the same conclusion.

"Don't worry, I can take him", and he was already positioning himself to ease his arms underneath the scientist.

"Watch his hands..."

John felt a strange disloyalty, letting someone else carry the man; he should be the one to take a member of his own team home. But this was the best way, Ronon was the stronger of the two men and it made sense that he should carry McKay.

Ronon came upright painstakingly slowly, doing everything he could to ease the scientist. Even so, Rodney, who was still laughing weakly, whimpered a little as his head was brought to the Satedan's shoulder.

"Rest easy McKay... I gotcha..."

His feet were dangling, shoeless and battered. John thought he looked like a small boy cradled in the arms of his father. He stepped closer and placed Rodney's hands, which were also slack and hanging, carefully in his lap.

McKay sighed and seemed to quiet a little, turning his face into the fabric of Ronon's coat. Sheppard could see what looked like dried blood on the back of McKay's head. He looked away and pushed down the rage that was boiling up within.

"Alright... Let's go."

After checking the other cells for occupants and thankfully finding none, they picked their way back through the rubble, towards the front door.

As they stepped from the low building, John stopped and immediately motioned Ronon to listen. There was a sound, and it hadn't been there before, a clicking and whirring sound coming from several sections of the cavern. John did a quick three sixty, his eyes raised to the ceiling. The rythmic noise sounded suspiciously like a countdown and there had been ample time for someone to initiate a self-destruct.

"I don't like this." Smartly tapping his radio, he said, "Phillips... be advised we may be looking at a detonation of some kind. Everyone out... _now._"

There were groups of prisoners and marines some way from the cavern and still more making their way briskly into the open air. Sheppard cast around but could not pick out the figure of Major Phillips, who was commanding the marines. His radio suddenly crackled to life.

"Sir, this is Phillips, message understood, we are on our way out."

Satisfied, John now turned his attention back to the job in hand.

"Lorne, I need you now... in the clearing "

John was no fool; the major was in orbit, awaiting contact, ready to home in on their signal and pick them up.

"Roger that, Sir. ETA eight minutes", Lorne's voice came across loud and clear.

The two men plus their burden, emerged from the shadow of the overhang into brilliant sunshine. Giving McKay a glance, Sheppard could see that his eyes were closed but his lips were moving, mumbling something in between occasional hitches in his breathing.

This was the moment when, whatever devices the Faithful had rigged as a self-destruct, completed their countdown and blew.

First, John heard several loud _pops _in rapid succession, accompanied by puffs of dust from within the cavern. Then a rumbling grew, he could feel it through the soles of his feet, and more dust and larger stones fell. John urged Ronon forward and away from the danger, but looked back anxiously as they began to run towards the canopy of the forest.

Major Phillips and his team had yet to emerge from the depths of the cave.

The sound was deafening as several sections of the ceiling just fell in great pieces, crashing down, creating huge clouds of dust. Sheppard stopped his dash towards the trees and turned in the hope of seeing the marines behind him. All he could see through the dust were a few buildings still standing, and the outline of the meeting hall, just before another chunk of rock fell and hit the structure. _Come on, Phillips..._

Then, suddenly, there they were, running at full pelt, looking like ghosts, white and blurry in the distance.They seemed to be dodging obstacles as they staggered on, and at the back, urging his men towards daylight, was Major Phillips.

They made it out into the sunshine, coughing and spluttering. Amazingly, each man still carried his field pack.

Sheppard breathed a sigh of relief, and then watched wide-eyed as the rest of the rocky overhang descended in an avalanche of noise and vibration that went on for several long seconds.

When silence reigned once more, Sheppard turned to Major Phillips.

"Nice work, Major... Gentlemen..." and he nodded to the assembled men. Phillips was leaning over, hands on his knees, panting.

"Thankyou... Sir... How's... Doctor McKay?", his eyes were fixed on the man being carried by Ronon.

"Not good", was the only reply John could give.

Phillips stood straight.

"Sir, we have our orders, we know what to do... my men and I are ready to escort the prisoners back to the city. Don't give it another thought", came the response.

John regarded the officer for a moment, taking in his tired and dusty appearance. Phillips was a good man, he could take it from here. He and his squad, with Mahar, would march the prisoners back to the city, where Major Phillips would deal with the negotiations concerning the fate of the captured men.

"Carry on, Major", and with a nod, Phillips left to assemble the rest of his team, and to see to their prisoners.

John turned his eyes skyward, alerted by a familiar sound. He squinted against the brightness.

The jumper made it's landing, stirring up more dust and debris so that Sheppard was forced to shield his eyes. Ronon turned his back on the craft and hunched over McKay, trying to provide some shelter.

The hatch dropped and - Thank God - there was the welcome face of Carson Beckett.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!

Sorry this chapter was short, the next will be longer and should be up quicker.

Thanks for the reviews! Bots are still down, I think, so my replies may not have got through...hate those bots!


	4. Chapter 4

Thankyou for your reviews!

oOo

The two men ran forward, past Carson, and into the body of the craft. John saw Teyla, wide-eyed and anxious, standing by one of Carson's nurses.

"Has he given ye any response?", Carson asked as Ronon set McKay down on the floor of the jumper, where a make-shift infirmary bed had been laid out, complete with pillow and IV stands.

"Well, he was laughing if you call that a response...", growled Ronon's voice.

After seeing Rodney safely into the care of Beckett, John strode quickly to the front, seeing the back of Lorne's head bobbing around as the pilot monitored the controls. John glanced behind him, anxious to be getting back there; he could see Teyla bending close to Rodney, her hand on his forehead, and her expression alarmed. She raised her head and John could see there were tears in her eyes.

"Rodney is no longer laughing", she said quietly and turned her eyes to meet John's. _Oh, God, no_... Sheppard's heart seemed to freeze; Carson was listening to Rodney's chest... a frown was on his face...

"Is he...?", gasped John, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Rushing to the back of the jumper, he knelt swiftly beside Teyla, searching first her face, then Carson's, and finally looking down at Rodney.

If the sight of Rodney laughing had been disturbing, then seeing the normally stoic scientist crying was the last straw for John. That he had failed to keep Rodney from this terrible ordeal, was eating at his very soul.

Tears streaked the face of the sick man and John, swallowing, looked up, asking, "Carson? Do you...?", but he couldn't finish, his mouth dry and throat tightening, because this was McKay and seeing him like this was just unbearable.

But Carson, even with a stethoscope in his ears, knew what Sheppard was asking and quickly handed him a clean swab. John carefully cleaned Rodney's face revealing two cheeks highlighted in red, amid pale skin.

"It's okay, Rodney... everything's okay."

John thought he saw the tiniest glimmer of recognition, the faintest movement of the jaw, tilt of the head, as if Rodney had acually heard him. "Hold on, Buddy. We're almost there", he whispered.

Lorne's voice was heard from the front, answering a call from Atlantis, "Atlantis, this is jumper one... Yes, Ma'am, we have him..."

Carson was now checking for fractures and other injuries, his hands moving around the neck and shoulders, across the rib cage, down each limb...

"Colonel? Are we set to go, Sir?", Lorne's voice cut through the fog Sheppard felt wrapped in. He looked at Carson questioningly. Nodding at Sheppard, Carson called down to the front, "I need you to get us in the air now, Major. All possible speed."

John turned away from the body on the floor to address the pilot.

"Take her up, Major", he ordered in a clear voice, craning his neck towards Lorne.

"Sorry, Colonel, Ronon, but you're in the way... ", came the brisk voice of the doctor, fully in professional mode, and Sheppard realised that gathered around McKay, in the cramped floor space, there were no less than five people: Carson, a nurse and Ronon on one side, and he and Teyla on the other.

Ronon reached across and awkwardly patted at McKay's shoulder. Then he pulled himself up to perch for a moment on the bench behind him.

"Look after him, Doc."

"Ye can depend on it, laddie."

Then Ronon went forward, giving John a tight smile as he left them.

John got up and settled himself, also, on one of the narrow benches.

Carson and his efficient-looking nurse were already working to get McKay stabilised; they stripped him of his ragged shirt and jacket and as the last remnants were lifted away, John could not suppress his reaction to the sight of Rodney's chest and abdomen: it was a mass of bruises. Some recent and some a lot older.

Even worse was to see once more the scientist's hands; Carson's nurse, Hailey, was fitting splints to immobilise the fingers. The left was much more badly damaged than the right. Would he even have full use of that hand again? The fingers looked like they had been repeatedly abused, dislocated and twisted, and John felt suddenly sick, imagining what Rodney had endured. Drawing his eyes away, he realised that the jumper had gone quiet.

"My God... how can people...", Carson began angrily, and then sighed, shaking his head as if he had decided that this was not the time. The nurse draped a clean white sheet and then a blanket over the scientist, gently lifting each splinted hand clear, and then laying each on top of the covers.

In a warm tone the doctor spoke to his silent patient,

"Rodney... you're doing well... everything's fine..."

"We're just making you a wee bit more comfortable. Okay?"

John noticed that Carson didn't wait for a response, but narrowed his eyes as he watched the rise and fall of his patient's chest. Swiftly he felt for the carotid pulse.

"His pulse is steady, a little fast. Hm... something's going on in _there_..", he was still watching Rodney's chest, "..infection... pneumonia.." Carson muttered on, half to himself, although John noticed that the nurse was paying close attention to what was said.

"Give me two lines... I'm betting he's dehydrated and hypoglycaemic. We want to bring that under control right away."

Rodney's eyelids flickered; his eyelashes were still damp, although now the only sound he was making was an occasional hitched gasp as he breathed.

"Hailey, try the other arm..."

The nurse was having trouble raising a vein in the crook of McKay's left arm. She got up and walked around the body on the floor and knelt next to Teyla, on Rodney's other side. Carson turned his attention to the back of Rodney's left hand.

"I don't like doin' this ...", and Carson sighed as he gently pushed back the strapping on the hand splint. John remembered seeing McKay before with a line in his hand, Carson had said it was easier in Rodney's case.

The doctor did the job quickly and cleanly, hanging up a bag of fluid, and adjusting the flow. Hailey had managed to find a viable vein in the other arm, and she too attached a bag, returning to her place next to Carson.

Rodney suddenly murmured something and his whole body gave a shudder.

"No, don't speak, lad..."

Teyla immediately leaned forward, taking Rodney's right hand gently in hers.

"You are on your way home, Rodney", Teyla said, but Rodney continued to move his lips as if trying to communicate something.

"Stay... Don't go...", was all that he managed to get out, before he was fighting for air and coughing weakly. Teyla drew back slightly, looking to Carson, and laying the hand she had held, gently on the blanket.

Without a word, Carson reached behind his patient's head and pulled forward an oxygen mask, placing it carefully over Rodney's mouth and nose. All the while the scientist kept his eyes tightly closed and looked as though his every breath was exhausting.

As Carson lifted Rodney's head to properly secure the mask, McKay raised a hand suddenly to his face, and gave a groan of pain.

"Leave that there, son, you need it. Teyla? I think he means you, love."

Teyla looked at the doctor, puzzled by his words. But she saw now that the hand she had released was feebly reaching for hers, and that tears had sprung to Rodney's eyes again.

Grasping his right hand once more, and giving a slight squeeze, she said,

"I am here. I shall not leave"

John watched as Teyla held McKay's hand in both of hers, and as she bowed her head, brought it to rest lightly against her cheek. The scene held him spellbound for a moment, as Teyla's eyes met his and in her level gaze John saw everything that he himself was feeling: helplessness, anger, pity... guilt.

Sheppard suddenly found himself on his feet, turning on his heel and stumbling blindly towards the light of the forward section. In a few moments he was looking through the screen at rolling hills and a brilliant blue sky. It calmed him... looking at the sky, it always had. It was part of the reason why he loved to fly.

He saw that Lorne was making his approach to pass through the gate. The chevrons were lit. The pool shimmered and rippled. He took a deep breath.

They took Rodney home.

oOo

TBC and many thanks for reading!

You may be relieved to know that I have no medical knowledge, and therefore do not practice medicine.


	5. Chapter 5

oOo

"They broke his fingers, you know..."

"Yes", was all she said as she looked calmly at him.

They were sitting in her office - if you could call it an office. It was a comfy living room really, with sofas and armchairs, two of which they were presently occupying. Sunlight poured through high windows and fell warmly upon them both.

Rodney was in the infirmary, where he had been for three days, ever since they had brought him home to his city. He was fighting an infection amongst other things... Carson believed he would recover... they even had high hopes for his left hand. But John was not doing well, plagued by unsettling dreams and unable to find peace.

"Okay - why does this bother me? After everything I've seen and done, why now? Why is this different?"

There was no response from the doctor, but she looked down briefly and brushed something idly from her crossed knee. She seemed to think for a moment and then raised her eyes to meet his, as if she had come to a decision. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

"When I was first introduced to Dr McKay - formally introduced - he called me Ginger and told me I looked like his cousin, Rita."

John smiled in spite of himself.

"I'm afraid I took a dislike to him."

Kate had the good grace to look embarrassed.

She settled back in her chair, where she sat opposite Sheppard, who was reclining in his, like he hadn't a care in the world - something she didn't believe for one moment.

"Several months later, we established contact with earth and I found out my mother had died. Everyone was very kind, Doctor Weir gave me time off, Teyla brought me flowers..."

"But after the first day or two, everyone turned back to their own lives - as of course, they should - and I was pretty much left alone to bring myself back."

"One afternoon, I was alone in the commissary stirring at a cup of cold tea, thinking of my mother..."

oOo

"How can you make a nice cup of tea in a plastic cup, Katherine?"

That's what her mother would say. Katherine Heightmeyer stirred her tea, which was in a plastic cup, with a plastic spoon. A piece of pie - on a plastic plate - was untouched nearby.

Tomorrow she was returning to duty. It was time; she'd grieved, wept until her eyes stung, slept, and then wept some more. In her line of work, she knew all the stages of grief and she'd visited all of them. She knew the memory of loss would recede, and she knew she would never forget the woman who had brought her to where she was today.

There was movement by the stack of trays in the corner... another diner had arrived, she couldn't see who it was. She returned to her stirring.

"Just give me all the pieces you have then... am I speaking a foreign language?" She heard the unmistakable, condescending tone of Atlantis' chief scientist.

_Oh, no, not him... not now..._

But Rodney McKay, smartest man in two galaxies, and all-round pain-in-the-ass was advancing on her table balancing a heavy tray...

Maybe if I don't make eye contact...

"This seat taken?", without waiting for her reply he plonked himself down.

She looked up to find him regarding her with a cool stare.

"Always thought you were a coffee drinker, Doc", he said eyeing the tea bag on a string with disgust.

She smiled wanly. _Please go away._

"Darjeeling", he had his head tilted to one side so he could squint at the label on the box by her elbow.

"Fancy. Not your standard issue Atlantis crap, then?"

With her head bent, she dug her fingertips into her eyes, and with a sigh, began,

"Doctor McKay, I'm sorry... but I really can't do this now, you must exc-", and she opened tired eyes to find him watching her intently, eyebrows raised as if waiting for an answer.

_Okay, you can do this... then he'll go._

"Every year on my birthday, I get a box, as a gift... well, I used to..."

The wind had gone from her sails in an instant and she found her head had dropped sideways and was now resting in the palm of one hand, elbow on the table. _Life sucks_, she thought.

But Rodney obviously wasn't listening, he was trying to juggle four pieces of pumpkin pie onto the same plate.

Kate blinked, raising her head, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I want to take these with me...", and he smiled indulgently at his pie mountain.

Then he seemed to notice for the first time her own neglected piece of Rodney heaven.

"You going to eat that?"

She stared at him for a long moment and then slowly slid the plate his way.

"Knock yourself out..."

His eyes shone with delight, as he forked it over to join the rest. The smile fell a moment and he motioned to the stack, "Are you sure you don't...? It's very... authentic."

"No, thanks. I'll just finish my tea..." _Please, please go away._

He frowned, "But it's cold."

"Can't waste it, it's my last one", she said, dangling the soggy bag on it's string.

She suddenly realised that McKay had stopped what he was doing and was now staring at her, with a puzzled look on his face.

"That's... tough", he said. _Probably thinks I'm a_ _lunatic_, she thought.

But when she met his eyes again, she saw something unexpected; she hadn't noticed his eyes before. Yes, she knew they were blue, but she'd never really _looked_ before. They weren't a cold, hard blue, but softer... more gray-blue... like a hazy summer sky. And in those eyes there was a gentleness, a quiet support and strength that touched her and had her feeling instantly better - better than she had in days.

In her line of work, not many people surprised her, but today Rodney McKay had and she smiled as he self-consciously tore his gaze from hers, 'harrumphed' loudly, bid her good day and left with his pie.

oOo

The sun still shone in Kate's room; all was still and doctor and patient were silent. John felt her eyes on him as he continued to digest what she had just shared with him.

"Iv'e celebrated three birthdays on Atlantis, Colonel, and on the morning of each one, I have found a box of Darjeeling tea bags outside my door. No card, no label attached. But I know who they're from, as certainly as I know that if you can count Rodney McKay as a friend, then you have the most loyal and true friend."

"And that, Colonel, is why this is different; Rodney is your true friend... your brother.. they hurt him, they hurt you...

... and you are hurt, Colonel Sheppard, aren't you?"

John drew in a breath and held it.

He had tried to tell her that what he was feeling was shock and revulsion at the treatment McKay had recieved, that his nightmares were all variations on a theme of torture. He knew she didn't buy it, knew she wasn't stupid.

In his dreams, he failed Rodney again and again. Rodney perished, again and again, and John had to witness his friend's death, again and again.

He rose quickly and went to the window. His eyesight was blurry, he really couldn't see much, nevertheless he peered through the blinds, blinking. The day was wearing on and the shadows on the carpet were lengthening.

He felt, rather than saw, Kate at his side, pushing a box of kleenex at him gently.

He took them and nodded.

She disappeared for some time during which he heard a variety of strange noises; rustling and clicking, clatters and 'chink-chinks', and finally the sound of liquid pouring...

It was the unmistakable sound of someone making tea.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!

Sorry, not much R.M. in this chapter, bit of a gamble - K.H. and J.S.? what do you think?


	6. Chapter 6

oOo

In his corner of the infirmary, lights were dimmed. The seat next to his bed was occupied by a nurse, who was working on reports, the lighting for which was provided by a tiny desk lamp at her shoulder.

He was the infirmary's only occupant and lay quiet beneath the covers, his chest hardly rising and falling. His arms were free of the blankets and lay by his sides.

Both hands were still in splints, but the broken bones had been pinned and were healing well. With physiotherapy, Carson was predicting a good outcome.

The man in the bed stirred and mumbled something, his head rolling on the pillow. Looking up, the nurse set down her papers and leaned in closer, one hand coming to lightly rest on his arm. Her lips moved in the semi-darkness, the hand on his arm gently stroked. When he was peaceful once more she gave his arm a pat, and briefly checked the IV that snaked from his right hand. Her fingers paused at his neck for a few seconds, then she retrieved her work and with a sigh, continued her scribbling.

Carson had assigned the scientist his own nurse, telling John and his team that Rodney was still very sick. In his weakened state his body was taking it's time to fight off the agressive lung infection picked up while in captivity. Antibiotics could only do so much, the rest was up to Rodney.

This was not the first time John had watched his friend from a distance like this. Over the past few days, he had seen Teyla and Ronon pull up extra chairs and sit for a time. John would stand back here, though, close to the door, not wanting to be seen. He hadn't spoken to McKay since their return.

He told himself there just hadn't been the opportunity.

Over their shared pot of tea, Kate had asked casually when he planned to visit Rodney.

John did not reply; McKay was hardly awake at all yet, probably didn't know what was going on anyway... there was plenty of time.

oOo

She lay down her pen and stretched. Hunching tense shoulders she drew in a deep breath, held it and then exhaled letting her shoulders sag. Picking up her pen, she rolled her neck around, hearing it crunch and pop. It had been a long day; staying focussed and alert when caring for one unconscious patient was draining.

But she was glad to be doing it... flattered that Dr Beckett asked her.

The chief of medicine had visited often, and they had discussed at length Dr McKay's condition and treatment. He was sleeping peacefully right now, which was of course to be expected when his body had gone through so much.

She heard a change in her patient's breathing, and the nurse looked up from her work. He roused slightly, coming up through the thick layers of sleep, his head moving weakly from side to side.

"Sheppard... is.. is it you..? Shhh... Sheppard.. "

She leaned towards him, making contact quickly by laying a hand on his arm.

"It's alright, Rodney, you're safe", she assured him in a soft voice, whilst she stroked his arm gently.

After a few moments, the doctor settled once more, and after making a few routine checks, she went back to her clip board and papers.

She heard a sound behind her... the infirmary door closing softly, and she knew that he had gone for the night. The colonel would be back tomorrow, and again he would stand in the shadows and again she would say nothing.

She knew from experience that it was hard on relatives and friends, hard to watch a loved one frightened and in pain, and she knew the colonel would come around. It would just take time.

The lights were muted over here, and she depended on her desk lamp to illuminate the forms she was completing. Most were aquisitions, some were records being transferred and amended. All were dry and mundane, but of course essential to the smooth running of the department.

Her arm was aching with writing and she shook her right hand and flexed it, putting down the pen. There was ink on the middle finger, along with a dent in the skin. She studied it for a moment, turning it this way and that, and then she found that her eyes had strayed to the hand laid out on the bed cover in front of her: Rodney McKay's hand.

It was the left one, the one that had been most damaged. She didn't even know if he was right or left handed. When would he write again? Would he ever be able to do so without thinking of his ordeal? That she knew so little about him bothered her slightly. She didn't know Rodney McKay and in some ways it was a good thing; she could stay emotionally detached, do what had to be done.

But people were complex... there was always more to know. They said he had a brilliant mind; had saved them all from the Wraith several times. They also said he was pompous, self-absorbed, arrogant. In sickness she saw them as they really were, stripped of all the armour they chose to hide behind, fooling even those closest to them.

But would someone so self-absorbed and pompous be the subject of such a dangerous rescue? Would an arrogant man inspire such devotion from his teammates?

All she had to know was that right now he needed her. Her job - her vocation - was to care for this man without prejudice, and she would do it to the best of her ability.

oOo

The atmosphere in the conference room was tense, expectant.

Major Phillips and his men had arrived back, tired and subdued, that morning. It was now four days since the rescue and everyone seated at the conference table was anxious to hear how the Major had fared. Teyla was there, in a chair next to Ronon, and of course Doctor Weir sat in her place.

As John strode into the room he saw Major Phillips, crouching, attending to a field pack in one corner. Several other packs were nearby, and John frowned when he saw more of the things in another corner. He would have to speak to Phillips about proper after mission protocols.

Major Phillips had obviously showered and changed, now in the familiar casual dark uniform. The maple leaf on his sleeve stood out in sharp contrast. A tall man by any standards, he sat and tried to cram his knees under the low table, he succeeded, and gave an uncomfortable smile.

"Good to see you, Major." Sheppard nodded.

"Good to be back, Sir." John noticed the young officer seemed nervous and ill at ease.

Doctor Weir gave him a small smile and said, "Yes... welcome home. You'll forgive me for coming straight to the point, but... what of the prisoners... any news of their fate?"

Phillips' expression sobered.

"We left the camp with sixty-two prisoners. We had buried the dead... five in all, none were ours, and then walked the prisoners back to the city, led by our guide."

"Once there, we handed them over to Aldonar himself, and I... impressed on him our wish to see justice done."

John smiled to himself; Phillips was a quiet guy, soft spoken, certainly not a big talker, but he could turn into a sharp negotiator when circumstances demanded.

"I have to say, Sir.. Ma'am... that this gentleman did not seem pleased that we had returned."

"What makes you say that?", and Elizabeth leaned into the table, eyes narrowing.

Phillips let out a breath and continued, his eyes flickering between Weir and Sheppard.

"He was ranting about how we shouldn't have brought them back, that we were meddling in their affairs. He was looking at some of the captured men as if he knew them. Well, he disappeared for a while, said he had to confer with his fellow ministers, and we were left more or less on our own."

He went on hesitantly, "So... I sent some of my boys out to do some... socialising. It appears that this group, is only one of several. There are more 'cells', if you will, and... there was evidence that the highest level of government not only knows of the existence of these groups, but that it actively encourages them. I spoke to men in the employ of Aldonar, and they told me of disappearances.. accidents...all involving his political rivals, some of which seemed linked to the Faithful."

Now Phillips turned to face the colonel.

"I'm sorry Sir, I wish I could tell you that at this very moment they are standing trial for what they did, but they were probably released the minute we came back through the stargate."

Sheppard let out a tense breath and glanced darkly towards Teyla and Ronon, who both wore similar thunderous expressions.

"Someone should pay..", growled Ronon.

"Ronon, I agree... I think we all agree.", said Dr Weir, "But there is only so much that we can do; we can try and persuade, we can hope, but ultimately, this is their affair and we cannot interfere. I'm going to recommend we sever all ties with them and never return."

As she finished, it seemed the whole room was about to protest, but Major Phillips cleared his throat loudly, grabbing the attention of everyone. He looked meaningfully at his commanding officer...

Sheppard knit his brows and shrugged, "What...?"

"There's something else."

oOo

All eyes had turned towards the major, as he began to speak. John thought he still looked nervous.

"We were checking all parts of the encampment. There were other small caves behind the main hall, supply closets really, nothing unusual. Then we found a larger cave, like a strong room... it was pretty big. The place was full of... stuff, Sir."

"What kind of stuff?"

"It looked to me, like they'd been snatching people and their possessions for quite a while. It was like a warehouse of machines and electronics... I had a poke about a bit to see what there was...took some video, too."

Major Phillips looked slightly uncomfortable, "I found an LSD, figured it was Doctor McKay's, so I pocketed that. Some of it looked like junk to me, but there were some things that looked Ancient."

Dr Weir raised her brows at this.

"That was about the time you called to evacuate, Sir. I had to make a quick decision, by then the whole place was shaking... "

Phillips seemed to squirm a little, and licked his lips, "I hope I did the right thing, Sir... I took them."

Sheppard blinked, "What..?"

"We only had our packs, had to pretty well empty them out...we couldn't carry everything... besides, there wasn't the time...", Phillips' words came out in a rush, and he looked apologetically at the colonel.

Then the major's face was suddenly lit with a huge smile.

"But between us, we did manage a surprising amount", and he leaned so far back in his chair that two of the legs left the floor. He was now craning his neck sideways, away from the table and towards the end of the room.

All heads turned as one to stare at the twenty-something dusty field packs, dropped haphazardly on the conference room floor.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!

I struggled with this chap... I hope it doesn't show! Thanks again for reviewing...xxx


	7. Chapter 7

oOo

Major Harry Phillips pulled over another anonymous, black pack. They all looked the same, so to find his own, he was scanning each one for a distinctive mis-matched buckle; he'd taken it from an old pack, and cobbled it onto his, with suturing nylon from the infirmary.

His mother had shown all her children how to sew, amongst other useful skills. She had taught elementary school for twenty years, before her sudden death, when John Henry, her youngest, was only twelve. Now, he couldn't pick up a needle, cook an egg or polish his boots without thinking of her.

He was starting to wonder if his pack was actually here. He knew it hadn't been taken to the labs yet, he'd already checked. The drooling science department had managed to restrain themselves and were going through the bags systematically, two at a time. These others, stored in a closet, had not been touched since the debriefing three days ago.

He'd left most of his gear on the planet, so it wasn't like he was looking for some personal item of sentimental value. He simply had something that belonged to someone else and he was anxious to return it.

There... had to be almost the last one, didn't it?

He quickly retrieved what he was looking for, from an inside zippered pocket. Dutifully ignoring the other contents, he neatly re-stacked the pile of baggage, and left for the infirmary.

oOo

Rodney felt like an old git in a rest home. He'd been on this balcony maybe twenty minutes and when he'd arrived they'd promised to come back in ten. He couldn't work the thing himself - obviously - so he was dependant on the two nurses who had stranded him here, to push him and his chair back to the infirmary. He had considered just getting up and leaving, but was afraid it might turn out to be beyond him, which would be a blow to his confidence he didn't need right now.

Ronon or Teyla would come if they knew... hell, even Radek would... but he had no radio.

As for Sheppard, Rodney hadn't seen him since they'd got back; he was trying not to wonder why.

He shivered.

It was cold out here, and he _felt_ the cold nowadays...

_God... you see? even sounded like an old git._

Now, his hands would cramp... especially the left. He grimaced and reluctantly looked down.

The skin of both hands was white, black, blue, red... take your pick. Six of his fingernails were blackened and gross, and already lifting up; they itched him and were particularly ugly. He didn't like to look at them, in fact he'd grown to hate them in the last week. They were a constant reminder of his imprisonment.

Carson was pleased with him, apparently. He was progressing well, the infection was gone, cracked ribs were mending. They'd been shoving him around in a wheelchair for a few days, something he hated, but the lethargy and weariness he felt was overpowering at times, and that was when he was grudgingly glad of it.

They hadn't made him see Kate yet, which was odd he thought, and especially ironic, as he couldn't help but like the woman, regardless of her dubious profession. He still needed to eat more, and of course, there was the continuing saga of his hands.

The right one was doing well, only the middle finger had required resetting, and it had it's own small splint, giving support to the other digits that were strapped to it.

But he winced as he tried to flex his left one. It was painful - to be expected Beckett had said - but more worrying to Rodney was the lack of sensation on one side, extending from the wrist to the tip of his thumb. There was a custom made splint for this hand, one that accommodated the swollen joints and dressings, the pins and the wires. He'd had two surgeries already, and Carson could not rule out a third. Rodney just wanted it all to go away, so he did what he usually did and buried his hands beneath the infirmary blanket over his knees.

The nurse arrived back, minus her colleague, passing on a cheery excuse and apology for being late. Rodney was unimpressed, did not reply, and was getting increasingly irritated by her forced jollity. There were only one or two of Carson's staff that he had any time for, and she was not one of them.

One day soon he would reduce her to tears, he just didn't know when. It concerned him a little, that he was actually looking forward to it.

Carson was a problem too, with his well-meaning questions and all round bossiness... he wished everyone would get out of his life, move on, like he had.

He could hear Nurse Whatsit chattering away behind him, as the chair moved back before swinging around and wheeling off into the hall.

He couldn't resist a smile,_ your days are numbered, girly,_ he mused.

oOo

Peering unnoticed past the edge of a glass partition, Harry saw McKay, in a wheelchair, punching at the keys of a lap top with a finger that was probably fractured and woefully inadequate for the job. He had managed to push back part of the strapping and was typing one fingered using his right hand. Even from a distance, the major could see the painful set to his jaw and the sweat standing out on his forehead.

There had been raised voices coming from the infirmary. He knew Dr Beckett wasn't there, as he'd just spotted him tucking into a bacon sandwich in the mess hall.

"Dr McKay it's time for your physio..."

"You're not even qualified.", came the snappy reply.

"We do what we can, doctor, and I'm the closest thing to a p.t. in this galaxy.", said a white-coated woman.

"Why don't you just try it?", said a nurse standing beside her. She said it quite pleasantly, Harry thought, but Rodney shot her a look that could have soured milk.

"Because I don't have to and I dont want to... I have free will, you know", he answered, darkly.

There was a sudden 'harrumph' and he threw up his arms.

"Why am I even in this chair? I'm not a freaking invalid...", and he struggled to his feet, the note pad sliding off his lap and onto the floor with a crash.

All eyes were drawn down to it, and for a few moments there was silence. Then, it seemed to Harry that the doctor crumpled visibly, and he sank back down to his chair, head down.

"How are we supposed to help you if you won't cooperate?"

The doctor raised a weary head, and Harry was concerned to see the defeat written there.

He said, slowly,

"Read my lips... I don't want you to help me... I told you that yesterday. I can manage, I'll work it out for myself."

Harry knew of the unlikely friendship between his CO and the chief scientist, he'd seen how worried Sheppard had been about Dr McKay, and he thought this might be the perfect time for Sheppard to drop by.

He considered for a moment how best to get the colonel down there, without having all Atlantis know what was going on.

_Okay_, he thought, _here_ _goes_... and he touched his radio, "Colonel Sheppard, this is Phillips..."

"Yes, Major, go ahead."

"I have that report for you, sir.. the...", he really wasn't a good liar,".._very important_ one. Turns out I have it after all... maybe you could pick it up? I'm in the_ infirmary_, sir." he coughed, ".. sprained collar bone"

There was a long pause, in which Harry wondered if you could actually sprain your collar bone.

Then, at the other end of the line, the light - apparently - dawned...

"What? Oh.. yes, Major, I'll come right down there..."

oOo

Well, it looked like the decision of when to visit Rodney had been taken out of his hands.

"Hey, Rodney.. what's going on?"

He walked into a tense little scene: there was Harry Phillips, looking huge and as relaxed as ever, but for the hint of tightness in the lines around his eyes. McKay was sitting in a wheelchair, looking pale and dishevelled. In front of him was someone John didn't recognise; a woman, in her fifties, wearing a white coat. She was bent at the waist and almost nose to nose with the scientist. A lap top computer lay on the floor.

Rodney seeemed startled by his arrival, and John didn't miss how he quickly hid his hands in the folds of his robe, or the strange look on his face.

The woman straightened abruptly and fixed John with an icy glare.

Then McKay laughed, but it was a harsh, humourless sound.

"Why are _you_ here? ..come to see the show?", he smirked, but underneath his face was thunderous. Sheppard turned to Phillips, wearing a strained smile,

"Thankyou, Major... really, I appreciate it... I can take it from here...", he said, and then went on, addressing the room in general, "I'd like to speak to Dr McKay alone, please."

The small group that had gathered, including the stern woman, left quietly, if a little reluctantly. Harry, too, made as if to leave, and John saw him push something into his breast pocket.

"No, stay, Major... at least you're a visitor who actually wants to visit.", McKay said, with a stuck-on smile.

_Touche_, _Rodney_, thought John, ruefully.

"It's alright, sir, I just had something for you... it can wait.", the major explained.

"Well you can give it to me now, can't you?", the smile was still stuck there, and John half-expected Rodney to clap his hands with glee.

Harry looked sideways at Sheppard, who just shrugged slightly.

"Here... I've been wanting to get this back to you all week."

He held it out to McKay, with a small satisfied grin, obviously happy to have restored the LSD to it's owner. But McKay did not move to take the device, only stared at it in horror, like it was about to explode, or something.

In fact his arms, far from reaching out, actually drew back, and his hands fell to rest, _clunk_, beside the wheels of the chair.

_Uh-oh..._

"Where did you get this?", he whispered.

"I found it in the store room with the other stuff... on the planet... I knew it was yours"

Rodney's face had gone blank, his eyes flickering and far away.

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Sheppard could only stare at the scientist with a worried frown.

McKay's voice, when it came, was low and hesitant...

"They tried to smash it... but it wouldn't smash. That made them mad. I wanted it to smash, I didn't want them mad at me. So I grabbed it, and I _stamped_, and _stamped_, and _stamped_ on that thing, but... it just wouldn't break."

Major Phillips had withdrawn his hand, the LSD still in it, and was looking horrified.

"Then... they bent back my thumb, till it touched my wrist...", McKay said.

And then he added, almost casually, "I bit through my tongue that day."

John's stomach lurched. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Harry Phillips was stony faced with barely contained rage.

John moved quickly to crouch at McKay's side, as Phillips stepped back.

He wanted to say, "I'm sorry, Rodney, that I let them hurt you... that I wasn't there to help you", he could have said what needed saying, there and then.

But, because he was a coward, and because as far as he was concerned, he was way off the map, he said, "You don't have to do anything, if you don't want to"

He sighed, and went on, "But maybe you should consider doing some of it."

Blue eyes, red rimmed and dull, met his.

"I still won't go with _her_", he said emphatically.

"I know", was all Sheppard could say.

"Where've you been?"

"I've been.. busy..."

There was a snort...

"No you haven't.", McKay snapped, and he seemed willing to leave it at that, which on one hand made John grateful, but on the other, left him feeling that he'd let Rodney down, yet again.

"Do you have the gene, major?", McKay asked Harry.

He nodded.

"Then you use it.. keep it for me... I just can't deal with it now, you know?"

"Sure, doc..", he answered quietly, and returning the device to his pocket, he nodded to John, and left.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your patience... hopefully, now I've made a start, further chapters will be quicker!


	8. Chapter 8

oOo

As Harry walked briskly through the hallway, the small, gray device bumped heavily against his chest.

He felt like a fool - a naive and unthinking fool. He had treated McKay cruelly... unintentionally, maybe, but cruelly all the same. This was the very reason he shouldn't get caught up in other people's problems. It always happened; he tried to do the right thing, but ended up hurting someone. The doctor had been hurt enough, that was obvious. Harry still felt sickened and outraged after hearing McKay's story; if there was any chance of returning to the planet, and setting things straight, he would be up for it.

Arriving back at his room, he opened a drawer and dropped the LSD into it.

oOo

_"I found it in the storeroom, with the other stuff..."_

The words were going round and round in his brain...

What other stuff? What else had they found that day?

Rodney chewed his mashed potatoes thoughtfully. They were pretty good, actually, covered in gravy and sprinkled with salt and pepper. He was sitting alone at a small mess table, where he had come five minutes ago. He still felt a glow of pride at making it here on his own and on his own two feet.

He didn't feel too much pride in what had driven him here in the first place, though.

She'd been on borrowed time long enough, and now, Rodney had thought, her time had come.

Poor girl never saw it coming... but Carson had been incensed and looked ready to hit him, so McKay had bolted.

It occurred to him that being driven out of the infirmary, was what he had been wanting in the first place, and that insulting that poor girl had just been a means to that end.

Gulping a last forkful of mash, he slid the piece of cutlery out, awkwardly, from the side of his finger splint, where he had wedged it. Wrapping his two hands around his coffee mug, he raised it carefully to his lips... heaven. There was no real coffee in the infirmary, for some reason it was regarded as poison by the medical profession.

He looked around; not many folks about, it was early yet for supper.

Bored, he activated the radio at his ear and listened in. Teyla had brought it to him this morning; he'd been long enough without one.

Most of it was tedious admin stuff... Sergeant O'Rourke had found the missing acquisition form... There was a meeting with the Athosians in the conference room in ten minutes... Zelenka was asking a technician to please bring another pack with him... what?

Now that sounded interesting... off to the labs, then. The only question was: could he get there without falling over...

oOo

"He's fine... well, not exactly fine - but well enough to be mean and nasty to my staff."

Carson leaned back against the desk, arms folded, a disgruntled expression on his face. Sheppard could see he was angry, but also that the doctor had some conflicting emotions about his most troublesome patient.

"You heard what happened yesterday with Dr Drew? Well, today it was ten times worse.. I could hardly keep ma hands off him"

John had arrived to find Beckett handing a tissue box to a tearful young nurse, and that Rodney had gone.

"Are you going to release him?", John asked.

"Yes... I shouldn't really. His hands are still a mess, he tires easily and is not good at looking after himself at the best of times. But, there's nothing for him here, especially if he won't let us help him... he's just miserable, and takes delight in makin' everyone else feel the same way."

"He's been through a lot, doc..."

"Och, I know... ye don't have ta tell me. But he's choosin' ta deal with it by pushing everyone away, and there's nothin we can do until he lets us in."

Carson ended with a sigh, then he pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'll watch him, doc."

The doctor narrowed his eyes, but his expression was still kind.

"You know, colonel, you should be doing more than that... I've talked to Kate..."

Sheppard took a breath and shifted uncomfortably. He was wondering just how much Kate had told Carson. Scratch that... he knew. She'd told him everything... how he was taking it badly, how he and Rodney had yet to talk - really talk, and how John was as much Rodney's salvation, as Rodney was his.

"I know.. I know... point taken. Where is he now?"

"I have my spies out and he was spotted eating in the mess hall ten minutes ago."

"Doc, I'm impressed."

"So you should be. Will you find him?"

"Sure."

oOo

All eyes were on the screen in front of them.

Eleven people were crowded into a space barely big enough for six. This lab was the darkest place they could find, and even so, it was too bright for proper viewing. Radek had balanced the projector on top of a pile of unfinished reports and a box of test tubes. He was projecting onto a store cupboard draped with a sheet, as they had never got around to ordering a proper screen. The ten other interested scientists had perched themselves here and there, where they could, avoiding the obvious hazards of half-empty coffee cups and research projects.

As he attached the leads from the camera, he felt a pang of guilt; Rodney should be here.

When they had examined the first packs, there had been no question; Rodney had been sick and injured, freshly rescued and out of the arena. But now, according to Beckett, McKay was up and about. If he knew this was going on, he'd want to be in on it, and Radek knew he should have invited his colleague.

In truth though, Radek feared for his friend; feared that this would bring back unwanted and painful memories, and he didn't want to be the one responsible for that.

His attention returned to the footage, which had just started. Voices could be heard, sounding tinny...

"...as much as we can and vid the rest. Callaghan... watch the door. Are you gettin' this, Walsh?"

"..Sir."

The screen showed a dim image of a good sized room. It was crammed with artifacts. As the camera panned left to right, it shook occasionally, sped by certain spots and lingered over dark areas where little could be seen anyway.

"I think the marines could use some lessons in camera technique.", said a sniggering voice.

"Well, they were about to run for their lives, Dr Brook, I think we can forgive them...", shot back Radek.

At times, also, rumblings could be heard and the view disappeared as the operator neglected his task for a few tense moments. Then the camera swung back up and filming continued, whilst in the background the voices and the rumblings went on.

There was so much... so much stuff, that Radek realised they would have to go back and view small chunks of the film, so that nothing was missed. At first look there was a great variety of shapes, sizes and colours. It was difficult to discern much of anything, but Radek did see some Ancient-like designs, some obvious 'junk', and, interestingly, some items bearing the characteristic markings and styles of Goauld technology. The camera moved up slightly, revealing some larger items, against a rock wall...

"Stop!", Radek shouted, and only then realised that it was he who was in charge of projection. He scrambled back into position and pressed rewind.. and forward... then he pressed pause.

"What is _that_?", he asked no one in particular.

Ten heads leaned almost imperceptibly forward, as the whole room focussed on the object in the middle of the screen.

Dr Brook was first to respond:

"Looks like an old brass bedstead to me. There's something leaning against it.. I can't quite..", at this point there was a collective and excited murmur through the room.

"Is it a zpm?", a cautious, but anonymous voice asked.

Before the viewing, nobody had said anything... but the unspoken hope that the hoarde contained a zpm, was, nevertheless, on everyone's minds.

Radek again left his position as projectionist and approached the screen, slightly to one side. He tilted his head and squinted. Then, he removed his glasses and squinted again.

Yes, it was a zpm... he'd stake his life on it. But was it fully charged? That was the question: buried under tons of rock, on an alien and hostile planet... he wasn't sure he'd stake his life on that.

The reality was, that the sight of one zpm, probably depleted, would not be enough to warrant an excavation of the cave.

Radek's eyes wandered through the image.

The large object behind did look like a bed frame - at least the head end of a bed frame. It was a metallic gold colour, long, with about twelve rails going vertically, interspersed with decorative knobs and edging, reminiscent of other things of Ancient design.

The zpm was propped against the frame... Radek squinted again.

No... it was _held_ by the frame; they had found a zpm and... what?

It was a rack; a display shelf for zpms.

He smiled at the irony of it.

Radek exhaled loudly, rubbing at his eyes and replacing his glasses.

"What do you get astrophysicist who has everything? A rack for zpm's, what else...", he announced bitterly, almost to himself. If only they had a bushel or two of the precious power units, then this display case would be invaluable.

He flopped down on a lab stool and gazed glumly at the screen.

He heard a sound from behind him...

_Click-buzz... click-buzz... _

Someone was zooming in on the picture; Radek saw the bedstead blurr as it came closer, and then slide fully into focus, it's brass knobs gleaming.

A shape appeared against the screen... a shadow, head and shoulders. Someone drew closer to the flickering picture, and stopped.

No one spoke, then a plastic-clad hand clunked noisily against the supply closet screen, and Rodney turned around to face the darkened room.

"We're going back to that planet.", he pronounced, punctuating each syllable with a clatter of his splinted right hand.

Radek saw McKay turn directly to face him, and then he said, with hands on hips,

"Don't give up your day job, Martha Stewart, that's not an Ancient's plate rack... it's a _charger_."

oOo

TBC and thanks for the encouraging reviews...


	9. Chapter 9

oOo

Rodney made it back to his room without incident, but once the door had slid shut behind him, the steely resolve and cocky grin evaporated. He sat down at his desk; his hands were shaking.

Okay, he should have gone to the infirmary as ordered. He'd always hated being bossed around, but nowadays he was even less likely to do as he was told. He was surprised, though, that Sheppard hadn't insisted on escorting him there.

Sheppard had turned up in the labs earlier, obviously sent by Beckett.

Unconsciously, Rodney clenched his fingers, at least as much as he could, and brought them slowly to his chest. He could feel the bouncing of his heart through his ribs. He couldn't quite believe what he had done; more or less insisted he not only _had_ to go back, but _wanted_ to go back. John had been right, though, he'd have a few key people to convince.

In many ways his time in captivity felt like a dream. It was remarkably easy sometimes to pretend it didn't happen, that he was the same person he'd always been.

But, regardless of what Carson and the others believed, he had accepted what had happened, and, apart from distancing himself from the do-gooders, he thought he was in a pretty good place at the moment. Though, it wasn't all hunky-dory; there were the times, in the dark hours of the night, when every shadow held a memory and he had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming.

He'd always been a good actor, fooled a lot of people in his time.

Today was no different.

oOo

John laughed, mirthlessly; he wasn't fooled.

He ran his hands over the control panel in front of him. Doing checks on the jumpers was a boring job usually given to the support staff, but John had felt the need for some solitude and thinking space. So he had taken the clip board from the technician, installed himself in the pilot's seat and run through the checks quickly and efficiently. That done, he was nevertheless reluctant to leave.

He had found Rodney, half an hour ago; not in the mess hall, but in one of the labs.

Standing in the path of a projector, with translucent colours and lines painting the front of his shirt, McKay was holding court with his staff, miraculously still on his feet.

There'd been talk of digging, expansive gestures by more than one occupant of the small pokey room.

"You don't know that, McKay... and are you seriously thinking of c4?", these words from an incredulous Radek Zelenka.

"We have to get in there, don't we? What do you suggest - teaspoons?", said a voice that had to be Rodney's.

There was a weary sigh - again from Rodney, John thought, "Look, we'll know more when we get there..."

There seemed then, to be an uncomfortable silence, ending with Zelenka's hesitant "Ah ..."

It was at this point that John decided to enter the conversation.

"You mean, Rodney, when _we_ get there", and he indicated himself and others in the room, with a sweep of his hand.

"_You'_ll be staying here"

McKay's back stiffened, his gaze dropped and John imagined his lips to be a thin line in the darkness.

"Colonel..", he aknowledged, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." John drawled.

"Did Beckett send you?", asked Rodney, his tone challenging.

John looked around at the sea of faces, and smoothly said,

"Let's go for a walk, Rodney"

It looked as though the doctor would argue, but then suddenly he turned on his heel and left the dim room. Sheppard followed.

Within moments they were outside. The weather was unsettled, a storm was on the way. Their hair was ruffled by the stiff breeze and salt was on their lips as the waves crashed against the sides of the city. Rodney stopped abruptly at the railing, his face turned out to sea.

"You have no right.", he said quietly and his voice could barely be heard above the sound of the ocean.

"Excuse me?"

"No right to tell me I can't."

Anger flared...

"Well, forgive me, McKay, but I was the one who hauled your butt out of that hell hole and I don't wish to do it again. Anyway... Heightmeyer? Beckett? You think they'll be okay with this? You think you can persuade them? Good luck with that..." He was pissed at Rodney, and didn't know how to get past it.

Rodney's back was stiff, his face held up defiantly, toward the wind. But when he spoke he sounded lost, damaged...

"When I was... _there_, this -", and his head gave an almost imperceptible jerk."This is what I thought about. The wind, the sea, the sky... Atlantis..."

He hesitated and John thought he'd had more to say; but when he spoke again, the vulnerability was gone.

"I'm the science officer here... You think I'm gonna let Zelenka and his boys go and steal all my glory? Hello?_ zpm charger_? Sound useful to you?", he snapped, turning toward Sheppard his eyes flashing.

John suddenly felt weary; here was Rodney trying to make out that his giant ego couldn't let this one go, and Sheppard himself was hiding his guilt, because he didn't have the guts to come right out and say it... It was almost funny.

"Beckett wants to see you in the infirmary. That's all I had to say.", and he couldn't keep the hopelessness from his voice, as he turned to leave.

oOo

The very next day, Rodney went to see Kate. He was ready, wearing his full, no-bullshit armour; but still, her gentle smile, almost undid him. He argued, fast and loud, that going back and facing things was the best for him, and just like a dream, she agreed.

She hugged him as he was leaving. He didn't know whether to hug her back or just remain rigid; as it happened, he found that all he could manage was the latter. He didn't like anyone touching him now.

Carson, however, scared him; he grabbed Rodney by the arms and near enough shook him. Rodney could only gape open-mouthed at the Scot.

His eyes were like flints...

"Don't go back there. You're not up to it, and you know it.", after delivering this, tight-lipped and angry, he let go Rodney's arms, and walked away.

"I've said ma piece, and I'll say nae more", drifted back over his retreating shoulders.

It shouldn't have surprised him; he'd seen them arguing, Carson and Kate. She, telling him a return to the planet was a good idea, he, citing unhealed injuries and trauma.

He felt bad for Carson, actually, although he would never say so. The healer who had the job of putting them all back together had an undeniable stake in all their missions, dangerous or otherwise.

Would this be dangerous? Who knew. But it was work, and work, he thought, was good.

Push the crap to one side and get to work, McKay.

He sat on the edge of his bed in his dark quarters. It was raining now, had been all day. A steady, drenching rain, and the sky was heavy. Squeezing shut weary eyes, he recalled those wonderful things he'd dreamed of... the sea, the city... the perfect blue sky... tried to tuck them away in the corners of his mind.

But, no matter how hard he tried, the only dreams he had, were the ugly memories of captivity, and those would not be banished.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your reviews! I haven't forgotten this fic, and I have been busy writing others, but it continues to be a tough one for me to write... your encouragement is always very much appreciated! x


	10. Chapter 10

oOo

The forest was a rippling carpet of green. Rodney was seeing it for the first time and the view staggered him. The alien trees were, literally, like nothing on earth; from the air they shimmered as the sunlight caught their canopies, their deep emerald green reflecting tiny flecks of every colour of the rainbow. It seemed to go on for miles, only to merge into the distant mountains toward which they were travelling.

It had been more than two weeks since his run-in with Carson and during that time preparations had been made for a return to the planet. Some bigwig called Aldonar had been contacted, wooed with promises of medicines and technology, and had agreed to help their little expedition back to the mountains. Not wanting to give too much away, they had gone with the excuse that they were checking out signs of a mineral useful to them. Aldonar accepted this, but when the Lantean's had made other enquiries, specifically the fate of the prisoners, he refused to discuss it, saying only that matters had been dealt with.

Rodney scratched at the row of stitches on his left hand; they itched. This latest surgery, completed a week ago, was meant to correct the alignment of his middle finger. The hand, now without its splint, was stiff and clumsy - the other one was not much better - but at least they were both looking more normal. He held his hands up in front of his face; they didn't shake, and he was grateful for that. They still looked like they'd been run over by a steam roller, but happily, the bruises were fading.

The numbness was a problem though; Carson admitted to having limited expertise in this area. Specialists would be contacted and no doubt more surgery scheduled, when all this was finished.

An engineering team, accompanied by Sheppard and the original marines that had assisted in Rodney's extraction, had left Atlantis in jumper one, four days previously. They had found the site, now relatively easy yo see from the air, and had set up camp and prepared for the job of excavation. Rodney was not really required at this stage and as he was waiting on his hand being sufficiently healed, he had stayed back to become part of the second contingent.

The jumper did a wide turn around the base of a flat topped mountain. Rodney glanced at Lorne who was right next to him, piloting the ship. Behind him, he could hear the soft murmur of voices.

The rest of Team Sheppard were there, plus one noteworthy addition: Phillips, the man who'd found the treasure room... the man who'd retrieved the LSD and so much more. He was, apparently, anxious to be a part of this return engagement. Then there was the half dozen scientists including Zelenka, who were to lend their expertise to the mission. They were crammed into the jumper along with the tents, supplies and equipment required for an extended stay.

A device to replenish zpm's; it would be a dream come true... if it worked. It made the six dozen or so useful and interesting items Phillips had brought back, pale into insignificance. At the very least, the single zpm they had seen on the recording could be charged; as could the one that already powered Atlantis.

Elizabeth had waved them off as they hovered in the gate room, in front of the rippling stargate. He wasn't really surprised that Carson stayed away, just a little hurt. But he had wanted to leave quietly with minimum fuss, and he'd had his wish.

Lorne's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Coming up on the camp... looks like they have all the comforts of home"

Rodney craned his neck to see out and down to the right. Below, a line of gray tents could be seen set a short distance from the huge pile of untidy rock that was once the mountain hideaway of the Faithful. Rodney's heart began to race... his palms sweaty. He wiped them on his pants with a painful twinge. He hadn't considered that just seeing the place again would be difficult for him. After all, the people were gone, the buildings buried, what was left that could hurt him now?

They landed safely in between the tents and the other jumper, close to the edge of the forest.

The colonel was there to meet them as the hatch was lowered.

"Sir", called out Lorne, as he squeezed through the crowd of scientists milling about in the back of the craft.

"Major... how was the journey?" Rodney, just behind Lorne, caught Sheppard's eye for a fleeting moment, but then the colonel looked away, breaking the contact.

"Nothing to report, Sir...", and the sound of their conversation drifted off as the two men moved away from the jumper.

McKay exited just after Lorne. Behind him he could hear the busy sounds of disembarkation; he felt Teyla and Ronon silently move up to stand at his shoulder.

Sheppard had ignored him... pretended he wasn't even there. Well, if that was how he wanted it, then that's how it would be.

oOo

Radek put the finishing touches to the tent. Rodney had tried to help as much as he could, picking up poles and handing them to the other scientist, but Radek managed mostly on his own; Rodney's hands were just not up to it. They were sharing their small tent with Major Phillips, who was off doing 'majorly' things and had left them to their job.

"Did you get to see the tunnel?", the Czech scientist asked excitedly, plonking himself down on the cot opposite Rodney.

Rodney blinked.

"They have a tunnel.. already?"

"Well, there is a building on the left side... it is still partly intact. They have gone through there and then have been digging out sideways. I was speaking to Feldman"

Rodney's heart seemed to falter...

"Show me, Radek"

oOo

It was strange; he thought he had forgotten what it looked like, but there it was, the place of his captivity... the heavy, ugly door... the drab walls. Even the tin chimney was still there, although it was snapped off and lay on top of the crushed roof, under the weight of the rocks. Being on the very edge of the overhang, the building's stone front had escaped the bulk of the fall.

The cell block was now just a token door and wall, but, even so, Rodney's mouth went dry when his thoughts turned unbidden to what lay within.

A table was set up a short distance away; a few bodies hunched over it. As he and Radek walked up, Rodney saw that they were poring over a map or plan of some sort.

It was obviously a group of engineers, and they were arguing...

"If we go straight and you're wrong, then we waste time and energy..."

"Yes, but, if _you_ are wrong, we'll end up having to blast..."

"No, no... you don't know that! The initial points we have plotted show that..."

"They're only _guesses_! Jesus Christ..!"

Rodney was aware that Radek had moved closer to the table, interested in the discussion. They were oblivious to his presence, so he turned his attention back to the cell block.

His feet wavered in their stride; _go on, McKay, take a look_, he said to himself.

But it was not that easy.

Memories crowded in; why had he thought he wouldn't be affected like this? Carson had given him pills.. weeks ago. Rodney had thrown them back at him with contempt, saying how he didn't need tranquilizers... happy drugs. Maybe away from it all back on Atlantis, that had been true. But here? He wasn't so sure.

A deep breath and a couple of determined steps and he was there, at the open door.

One more breath and his feet obediently carried him in.

oOo

Outside it was a warm, fresh day, the breeze carrying the sharp scent of the forest upon it.

But in here, where the darkness was almost complete, it was as if the air itself was dead; sound was muted from outside, even though the door stood open. Rodney could feel a pressure, a heaviness of atmosphere that brought a prickle to the back of his neck. It was like being in a greenhouse at the height of summer, when the air can feel almost too thick to breathe; and yet, in this dark and oppressive place, the air was chilled and dank.

As his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, he made out a line of cable with glass bulbs attached, stretching away to his right and into full darkness. He fumbled about on the wall, searching for a switch.

His fingers nudged at a small junction box, and the room was suddenly illuminated by watery light.

He was standing in the familiar guard room, the fire place to one side. On the other side, there were the unmistakable signs of digging. He walked through dust and rubble, here and there abandoned tools and equipment. His eyes followed the line of lightbulbs, trailing along the rough walls to exit the room and light a fairly long tunnel, leaving the cell block more or less at right angles, through the side wall.

By coming through this room, they had saved themselves from digging, maybe, fifteen or twenty feet.

He gave a moment's consideration to the fact that if this course was maintained for much longer, it would take their tunnel completely in the wrong direction. Then he turned and picked his way back to where the original door to the cells had once been. Now there was a large hole, no doubt blasted by Sheppard, and it was through this hole that he cautiously stepped.

oOo

First of all, it seemed wrong; wrong that he should be here - in this place- and be standing on his own two feet. Secondly, he expected to see himself there, crumpled in the corner, half naked, afraid; convinced that no rescue would come.

As if he had never escaped... as if this was nothing more than a dream.

Suddenly he shivered, and wanted no more of this place.

It occurred to him quite suddenly that he couldn't breathe; cold sweat rolled down his back, he gulped and panted desperately, and his legs chose that moment to turn to wet newspaper. Blindly, he turned and staggered from the room, leaving the cell behind him; part of him fancied he saw a figure dressed in rags, gently rocking, staring at his retreating back.

_Have to get out... have to get out..._

Almost at the door... just a few more steps... he put out his hand...

"McKay...?"

At the sound of his name, he froze...

There, standing in the doorway was Sheppard, looking so much like his saviour of that day long ago, that he couldn't help the choking sound that escaped him, as he staggered sideways to lean heavily against the front wall.

oOo

"What do you remember, Rodney?", he asked softly.

"They took me to... another room sometimes. The great hall was on the right... then another low building behind it... then the rooms at the back that were like caves. They took me behind the cell block on the left."

Sheppard watched the man closely. Minutes ago he had seemed on the verge of collapse, pale and hyperventilating as John had guided him from the tunnel entrance. Why the hell did he have to go poking around? Radek should have been watching him.

Now he had joined them around the map, still looking pale but at least his hands had stopped shaking.

He had refused the camp chair dragged up hurriedly by Radek; it was behind him, empty. The water bottle he had accepted; it was almost drained, sitting on the edge of the large table.

Rodney was sketching awkwardly, now, on the edge of the plan. Then he stopped, closed his eyes, as if trying to visualise something.

Suddenly he rounded on John and stared at him, eyes narrow.

"Was the back of _here_...", and he stabbed a finger down at the plan," ..at right angles to _this_?", he asked.

John just looked puzzled, "Rodney... I don't remember...", he answered, feeling kind of useless, but slightly bewildered as to why Rodney thought he would know such a thing.

"Oh, of course you don't...", and Rodney dismissed him with a familiar flap of the hand.

He continued, and John thought he had at last recovered himself, speaking with the confidence that was just so 'Rodney'.

"Look.. I remember the Great Hall. It had a kind of veranda... porch... canopy-type thing at the front. It was huge, made of metal... I.. fell against it once.. got a good look at it. Go towards that area, if the thing's collapsed - well skirt around and continue - at least you'll know where you are. But if you hit it and it's intact..."

"_Intact_? you really think it could be?", asked one engineer, dubiously.

Rodney turned an icy stare on him.

"Are you listening? What did I _just_ say? And, please, let me finish... "

"If it's intact, it may have formed a large cavity, and if you follow _that_ line..", again, a finger stabbed emphatically down, this time sweeping across the paper with a flourish.

"...it will take you directly to the caves"

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

This is a short chapter - apologies!

oOo

It was noisy - very noisy.

There were the generators for a start; a baby model for the needs of the camp, chugging away behind their tent, of all places (serious oversight by one of them..._ probably Radek_, he thought maliciously); then two monster versions, to power the digging equipment.

Then there were the digging machines themselves, whining and vibrating, sounding to McKay like huge dentist's drills.

He tried to stay out of the way as much as possible. He certainly didn't want to be anywhere near there, and the dirt and dust generated by the excavation were intolerable.

So, with the combined nuisance value of clouds of dust and hellish noise, Rodney was being forced to take a walk away from all the activity this morning. He had wandered past the tents, hearing the cacophany of sound recede behind him.

The clearing where they were camped, was a broad crescent shape. The tents were in the middle of the crescent, with the cell block on one tip. The latrines and the rock upon which he sat, were on the opposite tip, along with the one remaining jumper.

Lorne had left early, before first light; a trip back to Atlantis to pick up supplies and other things they had managed to forget. Rodney cursed inwardly when he remembered that Lorne had not been alone; Teyla and Ronon, under the guise of helping, had also left... he knew the real reason; they were bored.

And he could truly sympathise with them. What was there to do in a camp where digging and more digging was the only activity?

So here he was, plonked on his large rock, one of several that had escaped from the pile and ended up a few yards from the press of the forest. He sat with his back to the trees and pulled something from his top pocket; a camera. With little interest he lined up his shot - the rock pile and surrounding rocks - and pressed.

It clicked and whirred - irritating him with its digitally manufactured sounds.

God, he was bored... should have begged to go with the others.

Truth was, though, now he was here, it was probably a good thing for him to stay for the duration; if he left now he couldn't trust himself to come back.

Damn his hands... they were hurting today. He hadn't told anyone; not even Carson knew to what extent they pained him. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes he could swear he still felt the boot heels smashing down on them.

Of course he'd been given pain pills, but they made him sleepy... dull witted. It reminded him too much of the lack of control he'd felt in captivity. No, popping pills was not how he wanted to live his life.

_To hell with this God-forsaken galaxy_, he thought; what he needed was some really good alcohol... or pills, he conceded grudgingly... or maybe even both.

Radek had lent him this camera, Rodney suspected it was just to shut him up.. get him to leave.

"Why don't you... _go_... take some snaps?", he had said through gritted teeth.

Apparently, it had some way of doing panoramic shots... Rodney fiddled and fumbled with the tiny buttons, soon growing irritated and frustrated in pretty equal measure. He brought the camera up, moved slowly from left to right and wondered, idly, if Radek had any embarrassing pics in the memory.

It took him all of nine seconds to find out that the answer was 'no', and he switched the thing off and consigned it once again to his pocket.

_Wonder what Sheppard's up to?,_ he mused, absently rubbing his knuckles against his chest; they were cold.

He hadn't seen Sheppard since yesterday; not since his embarrassing little scene.

Of all the people to drag him out of there, it had to be Sheppard; it hadn't done his "I'm okay" act any good at all. Still, what did it really matter? Being booted from the team would come soon enough. When Sheppard had screwed up enough courage, that was. Rodney was not about to make it easy for him.

He'd just about come to terms with going back to the lab permanently; when John eventually got round to telling him, he would be ready to look unruffled... yes, _unruffled_ was what he would go for.

_At all costs retain your dignity, McKay_.

There was a blur of movement off to his right... someone was coming towards him.

It was Phillips.

"Good morning again, doctor", he said amiably.

"It's okay, you can cut the crap and stop being nice", Rodney threw back, bitingly.

The big man ignored him, instead looking around at the scattering of rocks.

He selected a decent-sized one by eye and kicked it awkwardly. It rolled itself to within a yard or two of McKay. Then he lowered himself to perch upon it, gingerly, whilst at the same time drawing out something from a back pocket; it glinted in the sunshine.

"Got this from an old CO of mine, a few years ago now", he said, holding up what looked like an antique hip flask. It was silver with a brassy cap, engraved with leafy designs.

_Now, I've seen it all_, Rodney thought, amused, _I bet Sheppard doesn't know about this..._

"I usually take a nip or two, this weather..", he announced

"But the weather's fine", pointed out Rodney.

"So?", the other man simply shrugged.

"I thought alcohol was against the regs..."

"Since when have you been bothered by regs, doctor?", chuckled the major, removing the cap from the silver bottle.

"Tell you what... I won't say anything if you won't", he went on, and took a sip.

Rodney sighed, suddenly weary, and just nodded his assent; his fingers began to throb, rhythmically.

"Was he a drunk... this CO of yours?" Rodney didn't know why he was baiting the man like this, but it didn't seem to bother the major at all.

"Actually... no. I think he just realised that being a military man brings its own... ", and he stopped for a moment and looked up at the sky, squinting his eyes, as if searching for something.

"..._unique challenges_.", he finished, nodding to himself, and smiling slightly.

"I guess you're a military man, too, McKay, so... you'll know what I mean", he said quietly and deliberately, throwing a meaningful glance at Rodney.

Wordlessly Phillips held out the flask and as Rodney reached across, his eyes fell upon the major's right hand; he froze... how had he missed it before? Had it been anyone else but Rodney, they would have; but the scientist knew immediately what he was looking at.

Fine lines... some silvery, some darker where the skin was puckered. Scars surrounding finger joints... small depressions just visible, showing that orthopaedic pins once kept this hand together.

It looked so much like Rodney's own, that before he realised what he was doing, he had raised his hand and was staring at it blankly.

"It helps if you can keep your hands warm. Helps too if you get some physio... ", the major nudged the flask at Rodney, and he took it slowly, still in a kind of daze.

Phillips pulled back his hand, turned it this way and that, flexing his fingers and repeatedly making a fist.

"Then of course there are the days when it just hurts like a bitch", and he laughed again, but Rodney could tell it was forced.

So, this man had his own violent history to deal with; Rodney wondered about the when and the how- had he endured torture or maybe an accidental injury?... but he knew it was unimportant.

Phillips had called him a military man... well, maybe he was. He'd gone from science geek to Rambo in several painful lessons; from paper cuts and hang nails to jackboots and traumatic dislocation.

"One thing I do know, McKay. You're gonna need your friends... and - well - pushing them away by acting a jerk, is the last thing you want to be doing... trust me"

Rodney made a face and looked away.

Major Phillips had been there earlier, coming across the compound, when he and Radek were having their... disagreement. What the hell had it been about? The Czech had almost thrown the camera at him - he'd deserved it of course. Never one for social niceties, McKay found that since his rescue, he was often incapable of being civil... to anyone.

"Come on. We should go. They've got through to the canopy..."

"_What?_ Why didn't you tell me?", he spluttered, on his feet in a moment.

"I'm telling you now...", drawled Phillips, replacing the flask and hauling up his big frame.

Rodney was already half-running back to the cell block, and it was only then that he realised...

...the digging had stopped and the camp was silent.

They had almost reached their objective...

...and he would have to go in.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your reviews...


	12. Chapter 12

oOo

Evan Lorne shook out his shoulders and sighed. He had to admit it; he wasn't thrilled to be going back to the dig site. They had picked up what was needed from Atlantis, Teyla and Ronon were very willing helpers - obviously as glad to be away as he was - and now they were making their way back.

They had come through the gate and ascended from the valley where it stood, towards the walled city, several minutes away.

He was piloting, of course, Teyla was sitting in the co-pilot's chair, with Ronon lounging behind.

"I wonder what progress they have made...", mused Teyla, sitting upright with her hands in her lap.

_Always so simply elegant_, thought Lorne.

"Maybe they're already through..", suggested Ronon. Evan smiled.

'Oh, I hope not... don't know what I'd do if they started without me...", he quipped, glancing across at the woman next to him.

There was a pause, then..

"Really, Major Lorne?", and Teyla turned sharply to fix him with a quizzical look.

Evan's tongue seemed to sieze up, his smile evaporated, and to his horror he felt himself blush. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as that was all he felt able to do. He turned pleading eyes on Ronon, but the Satedan just looked amused.

"No, ma'am... not really. I was being ironic... sorry"

He smiled apologetically, and, finding the city now in the view screen, he was thankful to have something else to think about. Teyla had turned back in her seat and was now looking down on the ground below.

"Major...", she began slowly, her tone alerting him.

He looked down, too, and his expression sobered.

"Something's happening down there. We should find out what..."

oOo

"No, Rodney first... I insist", pronounced Radek firmly.

A group of around thirty people were assembled around the digging equipment - almost all the camp, in fact. In front, standing with a group of dusty looking men and Feldman, the chief engineer, were Radek and Sheppard. The colonel looked up as Rodney arrived with Phillips.

"Where've you been?", and Rodney thought John's tone was stony, lacking any warmth or real concern.

"Taking photos", he replied, deliberately not looking at the colonel and going for lazy nonchalance.

This answer seemed to throw Sheppard, and he eyed both men somewhat suspiciously. Rodney noticed Phillips give Sheppard a small nod, probably in lieu of a proper salute which this occasion did not seem to merit.

Sheppard suddenly brightened.

"Okay, then, ready to go take a look, McKay?", and the colonel couldn't keep the excitement from his voice.

"Oh... right..", he replied feeling all at once unsure.

"What is it?"

Rodney decided to go with the obvious.

"I really don't want this coming down on top of me, do you?"

Feldman appeared at his side carrying hard-hats and other gear.

"That's not going to happen, Doctor. We've taken great care to shore up every inch of the tunnel. It's very secure"

Rodney knew Feldman; he was old school... if he said it was safe then it was safe.

"We strengthened the canopy area, there should be no problems there. We could see the cave rooms through the back and they look intact",

Sheppard fussed over his own hat and light, then with McKay's and after Rodney had batted the annoying man away a few times, they entered the low building.

oOo

They had landed in a field, not far from the main city. Tents were set up; military personnel were coming and going across the muddy expanse. It looked to Lorne like a skirmish had gone on here... trees were splintered, several people were going over the area picking up weapons and discarded clothing - some of it bloody.

Bodies, if there had been any, were thankfully already gone. They left the jumper and walked warily across the field. No one seemed to be concerned at them being there, but the three held their weapons ready, regardless.

Coming to the first and largest tent they halted as a stocky, middle-aged man emerged and made his way toward them.

"You are the Lanteans... welcome. My name is Ferrel, I now command the military here"

Sensing no real threat, their weapons were slowly lowered.

"What about... ?", began Lorne, suddenly struggling for the man's name.

"You mean Lord Aldonar? The traitor has been unmasked and is fleeing justice even as we speak. I believe you are digging in the high reaches?"

Lorne nodded,

"Aldonar slipped away two nights ago, when the whispers of unrest began. We now know that he has been allied with the Faithful for many years, and he may be already with them. I'm afraid they have several camps... one of them very close to your dig site. I fear he blames you and your people for his fall from grace... "

Lorne threw a look at Ronon and he in turn growled his disquiet across at Teyla. Teyla just said, immediately,

"We must get back there.. now"

oOo

Whatever else Radek Zelenka thought of his boss - that he was arrogant, petty-minded and damned irritating - he had great respect for the man, and, of course, a certain affection. It was a small thing to let Rodney go in first, even though he himself was itching to get at that zpm charger.

Whenever a young Radek had tasted bitter disappointment or he had baulked at sacrifice, his mother would say, "You will have treasures in heaven, dear, treasures in heaven". Well, Radek was now expecting several truckloads of treasure to come his way... pity he had to be dead first, though.

As the two men disappeared into the cell building, Radek could see some of the workmen were already clearing away the larger pieces of equipment. It would not be needed now that they had achieved their goal. Major Phillips was still standing at his side, his arms loosely folded. Out of the corner of his eye, Radek saw the tall man turn to look behind, and he wondered fleetingly if Lorne's jumper had arrived.

He smiled to himself as he imagined his friend rummaging through the technology within, and was just about to ask Major Phillips how long they should give the two explorers, when Radek recieved what felt like a massive kick to the side of the head. Before he could even wonder at what he'd done to the major to provoke such an attack, he found himself to be unexpectedly lying on the ground, the world gone sideways.

There was a great deal of noise and through his rapidly blinking eyes he could see images of feet and legs passing dangerously close to his nose. Sounds came and went in a most disconcerting way for some time... _was that gunfire?_.. and Radek felt his thoughts drifting.

It was a huge effort to drag himself back to reality, and he had just begun to take stock of his situation, when he was suddenly dragged roughly to his feet, by one or two large, powerful hands. His glasses were gone, everything was a blur, and he could feel something wet plastering his shirt to the back of his neck.

Then he heard voices, immediately harsh and jarring, and he wished, whoever it was, they would stop shouting.

"Where are the others? I do not see Colonel Sheppard or Dr McKay."

"They didn't come. I'm in charge"

He screwed up his eyes and could see Phillips, being held by two burly men in dark robes... the Faithful?

Radek's heart raced...he himself was in the clutches of a robed and, frankly, pretty smelly individual. He was beginning to feel more lucid and blinked experimentally around. Everyone else, including Feldman, the diggers and the rest of the camp, were nowhere to be seen.

Face to face with Phillips was another man, in rich coloured robes; he was the one who'd been doing the shouting.

He looked old, bent over with age, and wore thick, yellow glasses. He left the major and stalked over to the open door of the cell block.

He peered inside.

"A tunnel? My... you have been busy. Maybe there are more of you in here..."

Radek could see Phillips flinch a little and then say smoothly,

"I told you there's no one else here... you have everyone"

Radek heard great sadness in that last statement, and the major dropped his head, his eyes fixed on the ground. Radek followed his gaze...

He must have been out for several minutes and been unaware of it, because five marines in their dark uniforms were there, obviously dead. These men had been on guard duty, while everyone else had waited expectantly at the tunnel entrance. It looked like their throats had been cut.

Radek felt sick.

"You should not have come back here.", said the man, his voice gravelly and rough.

He returned to stand before Phillips.

"You asked me once what I planned to do with your prisoners..."

Putting two and two together, Radek thought, _this is Aldonar!_

He went on,

"Now, I can tell you... ", he leaned in close to the major, "I set them free...", and his smile was truly poisonous.

Phillips couldn't prevent a slight curl to his lip, but otherwise he made no response, other than carefully looking away from the man.

"I thought I made myself quite clear, Major, at that very meeting. Our affairs are our affair, and you are not welcome. Now, thanks to your interference, questions have been asked, and I find my days in power are over."

"Can't say I'm sorry about that...", muttered Phillips, as if to himself.

Aldonar seemed to pause thoughtfully for a moment, and then, very deliberately, he stooped and detached something from the belt of one dead marine. It was something dark, small... to Radek's squinting eyes it looked like a pine cone...

It was a grenade.

"Wait!", that was Phillips, his voice different now; suddenly tense, "There are people in there... I'll have them come out, you don't need that...", he went on calmly.

Aldonar straightened and narrowed his eyes behind his odd, yellow spectacles.

"Let's have them stay where they are, shall we?", he whispered, a tiny, evil smile lifting his lips.

And then, without one more word, he pulled the pin and tossed it inside.

Radek went cold; he strained against the hands that held him, from somewhere deep down, outrage and horror welled up.

He screamed a desperate, "_No_!"

And in his head, _no.. no.. God, no..._

The earth beneath Radek's feet gave a jump, and then a split second later - although, somehow, it felt much longer - there was a huge and sickening bang... followed by a few seconds of crashing and rumbling. Dust had leapt from the doorway initially, but was now just hanging in the air; the door itself swung lazily back.

Aldonar was smiling widely; he looked to Radek like a man who'd just got a hole in one.

Then very quietly, but with absolute certainty, Phillips said,

"You bastard... I'm going to kill you", and Radek knew his eyes were desolate, even though he could not see them.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

oOo

The rumbling died away and all was silent in the depths of the tunnel. Rodney thought,_ I'm here_, _I'm awake, I'm... alive. _Something pulled at his shoulder, his left cheek was cold and he realised he was lying belly down. Grit was in his mouth and he spat with disgust. His shoulder continued to move annoyingly.

"Hey! Rodney... wake up"

He turned his head and saw Sheppard leaning over him, looking like he'd had his head in the flour sack. A hard hat lying on the ground threw a hazy beam of light across his line of vision. His own light illuminated the side of Sheppard's face.

"Don' shout... _pff-h_!" , and he sneezed."What.. happened?"

"I think we're in trouble"

For the first time Rodney looked around. They had reached the canopy at the far end of the tunnel, and had been shining their flashlights towards the wide recess where the cave rooms were. Then a rush of air knocked his feet from under him and a wave of noise and heat left his ears ringing. Looking back the way they had come, he saw a solid wall of rubble.

Cold dread gripped him...

"Oh, God... did the... did it... are we..? ..._ow_!"

Now he was scrambling unsteadily to his feet, one leg shrieking out pain messages. He ignored them and went back to trying to measure out the space they were in by pacing; thinking all the time that he really didn't need to know. The thin beam from his hard hat tracked erratically across the chamber, flashing from side to side just as his head did.

Suddenly, Sheppard was in front of him... he grabbed him by the shoulders; it hurt.

"Stop, McKay... now. Look at me.. this is nothing"

"Nothing?" His tone held a touch of madness, and he peered doubtfully at Sheppard. It registered somewhere in his panic filled brain that the colonel was bleeding from a small cut at his temple.

"That's right. Focus, okay?"

"You're bleeding... a bit", he observed shakily and began rummaging through his pockets for supplies, this small concentrated act grounding him somewhat. John stood back a little and raised a hand to his head.

"It's nothing..." , and at that, of course, Rodney just huffed very loudly and looked unimpressed.

"...and you're bleeding too", countered John and Rodney followed the colonel's eyes to his left knee, where there was a tell-tale dark splash.

"Oh... "

Rodney saw something in John's hand; it was a dressing.

"Here... let's get this on"

They both got down on the ground, Rodney on his butt with his good knee bent, and John kneeling. The colonel scrabbled a hand behind him and came up with the hat he'd lost. He put it on and the beam fixed itself to Rodney's knee, where bright blood was shining wetly.

"How's the head?", asked Rodney trying not to think about his own garish wound, that had begun to throb.

"Like I said, it's nothing. No, really...", John continued, firmly, "I mean it... I do. This time it really is just a graze.."

Rodney studied him carefully as he skilfully applied the dressing. He was pasty-faced, but that was probably all the dust, and his hands were steady. His expression was serious, but not desperate, and he decided that, yes, this time he was on the level.

His eyes wandered again, over the dark walls of the tunnel, and his mind took him back to a sinking jumper, where he'd been injured and alone. And yet here, trapped in the dark with limited oxygen, he was doing pretty good. This was different though; Sheppard was here this time.

The colonel tied the large pad around his leg tightly, eliciting a little gasp from the scientist.

"Sorry... it's nasty; has to be tight"

Rodney settled himself back against the wall and offered over the crumpled, single wrapped band-aid that he had found - it didn't seem like much of a trade, but John took it without comment. His head fell back with a clatter.

"He said... he said.. it was safe! _Shit_... _shit_!", Mumbled Rodney, eyes closed.

"Listen, Rodney... it didn't fall in. There was an explosion... remember? Something's goin' down out there... something bad"

A thought occurred to him, and he popped up his head quickly. Sheppard was sticking the tiny bandage over his cut.

"We could dig... yes?", he asked hopefully.

"Already tried that... it's as solid as it looks, and... it goes back a hell of a way", and John dropped next to him, wearily.

They had both settled themselves on a pile of threadbare fabric and cushionlike things on the dusty floor. It looked as though they'd been dragged from the store room, to get better acccess to what was inside.

"Phillips probably pulled these out.", Rodney picked at the edge of something thick and dingy looking. "At least we can get comfy while we wait..."

Sheppard looked amused, "Wait? For what... rescue? Don't hold your breath..."

"Hey!", said Rodney, sharply, "_That's_ not funny"

_Wide open fields, wide open fields..._ and his eyes flicked nervously from wall to wall.

"Yeah, you're right... This is probably air-tight and we're probably going to die", Sheppard said, philosophically.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just thought I'd save time. You know, how you always come out with 'We're all going to die... I am so dead' etc etc. Thought I'd beat you to it"

There was a quick scuffle, and Sheppard was on his knees again, his head lamp now directed to the ground in front of him, where he was busy making a small pile of stuff emptied from the pockets of his vest. Rodney noticed their two small flashlights amongst the items there.

"Why did you go to see Kate?"_ Now where had that come from?_

John stopped what he was doing and looked at him, jaw hanging...

"Why are we having a conversation? We're trapped in here you know... we should be thinking about getting out... anyway, how did you know about that?", he asked, suspiciously.

"Does it matter?", Rodney shot back.

The colonel huffed, and began to line up everything he had found in nice, organised rows.

"Apparently, I've been hurt too...", he began tentatively.

At that, Rodney leapt to his feet, his leg forgotten, suddenly incensed... Sheppard's neat rows were scattered by one careless boot.

"Oh, no, no, no, no... don't you _dare_ muscle in on _my pain_!"

"I don't want your pain, doctor... I have my own", John replied sweetly, but his eyes flashed dangerously in the gloom.

"Oh, ha... ha.. my sides are splitting!"

"It's called wallowing, Rodney. You won't let anyone help you... Kate, Carson, that physio woman..."

"I am _not_ wallowing! Alright... I admit it, I may need some help with this... but not from _them..._"

Oh God, did he really have to spell this out?

"Okay, who then? Come on...!", John folded his arms, challengingly.

"... from- from _you_... you - imbecile!", he spluttered.

_I wonder if this is what it feels like to have an embolism, _he thought.

"Me? I don't know how to help you!"

If Rodney had asked John to paint himself blue, he couldn't have looked more incredulous.

"Well, you could have tried!"

Sheppard's reply was indignant,

"I _did_ try... I _did_.", John hauled himself upright, and onto his feet. He brought an index finger so close to Rodney's face, it was almost up his nose. He continued, his expression thunderous,

"You can't pin that one on me. I didn't want you here... I told you not to come... but, oh, no... you just couldn't stay away".

"So that's helping me is it? Telling me what to do, treating me like a child..."

Now they really were shouting, their faces inches apart. There was no echo, and every word fell dead.

"Huh! You said it Rodney... let's call a spade a spade", John's voice was flippant, but laced with ice.

"If you weren't injured, I'd...", Rodney began, seething with rage, his jaw set and vibrating with anger. His fingers tingled in an oddly pleasant way.

"What? What would you do?", demanded John, "Would you _smack_ me in the mouth? Would you _punch_ my lights out? Oh, no... my mistake... you can't do any of those things, can you?... 'cos your _God damn hands are broken_!"

The silence was abrupt, shocking... only their breathless gasps cut through it. Rodney steeled himself for the part of all this he'd been waiting for.

"That was a cheap shot", he ventured, trying to sound brave and hurt at the same time.

John's voice had lost its sting when he continued, quietly,

"Well... sorry.. anyway, I didn't mean it like that"

"How did you mean it?", and suddenly after all the ranting and trading of insults, their eyes met.

_Here it comes_, thought Rodney, _prepare to look... unruffled._

"I need you.. to forgive me"

Rodney heard his heart beat... one... two.. three...

_Woah... back up there... _

"Excuse me?"

He'd been expecting the 'you're fired' speech; what he got was... something else entirely.

He wanted forgiveness... Sheppard wanted his forgiveness..._ what the hell for?_

The colonel's chin had dropped, and he continued speaking, but sounding subdued, unknowingly answering McKay's question.

"I-I couldn't find you, we left you there and you... suffered. Obviously, I can't protect you...I thought I could.. and I'm sorry."

McKay was struggling; his mind doing flips... it all started to make sense - kind of...

Being sick and injured and John not being there; their strange conversations that never got finished; John going out of his way to avoid him; John telling him not to come.

"Wait...that's what you..."

"Yes"

"Oh..."

Another long silence; it was an uncomfortable one, so with nothing better to do, they both sat down again... John fussed with his band aid, Rodney polished the toe of his boot with one senseless thumb.

"You know, we've spent valuable escape time arguing, used up air that we badly need, and now... what? Have we actually figured anything out?", said Sheppard.

A few seconds passed, then Rodney raised a hand as if to signal an answer..

"I do feel a bit better... not so... _angry_", he volunteered, mildly.

"Mmm... me too.. what's going on?", answered John, clearly as puzzled as he was.

Rodney felt this was maybe time for a few more truths... time to bite the bullet.

"I want you to know something. I never blamed you..."

Sheppard's eyes were fixed on him... they didn't waver,

"..and I need to know that we're still, you know... friends?"

Sheppard shifted next to him, and he reached across to check Rodney's bandage, a hazy beam of light following his movements. McKay heard him draw a deep breath.

"Look, it's hard for me... really hard. I don't do this .. _stuff_. But you... Rodney.. and I.. well, I always... "

"You are.. "

"We're..."

"It's as if..."

_Oh, enough!_ thought Rodney.

"Alright... I get it. I don't do that... _stuff_ either and I... well, I feel the same way..."

He saw John nodding, a small smile at his lips.

"So... we're good?", asked the scientist, in a small voice.

"Course we are...", Sheppard replied, firmly.

"That's good", and he laughed nervously, "...but don't quote me... and don't tell Ronon"

"Why?"

"I'm trying to get him to change his opinion of me... I want him to see me as _dangerous_, you know? Someone of consequence... he thinks I'm a lightweight..."

"Trust me... he doesn't think that", and although he gave John a sharp look, Rodney detected no sarcasm in the colonel's words.

They simply looked at each other then, for a long moment, and, spooked a little by all the silences, Rodney cast around for something to say next.

"Shall we hug?", he finally suggested.

The mood was effectively broken then, thankfully, and Sheppard shoved him sideways with disdain... and maybe some small affection.

"No... thanks ...", came the firm reply, "I draw the line there. I'm not _that_ sure we're going to die..."

"Why is that?"

"Because we are going to get in _there..."_, he pointed over at the shadowy archway leading to the cave room.

"..and in addition to retrieving our zpm charger, you are going to look through that junk and find something to get us out of here"

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet, just get on it..."

Sheppard moved again and grimacing, said, "You know, I don't think much of these cushions, they're full of rocks..."

"Don't exaggerate."

"I'm not", he said and reaching under himself he pulled out a large, decidedly lumpy, object; to Rodney it looked like a bean-bag... an olive green.. kind of khaki... bean-bag.

"Seriously, McKay, it's full of rocks."

Rodney was already delving into what, on closer inspection, was a drawstring bag.

"Hmm.. not rocks so much as _crystals_...", he held one up and turned it towards the meagre light to get a better look.

It was palm-sized, regularly hexagonal and translucently pale blue. Rodney wasn't sure but it might have been glowing slightly... at any rate it was reflecting what little brightness there was coming from their two lights.

_Very pretty_, he thought, but nothing that would get them out of this place. He grabbed up the bag and dropped the crystal in, but as he closed it with the draw string he stopped; something about the bag... something about the fabric, the hue of the cloth, was familiar.

He screwed up his face, and thought,_ something... something..._

Then, like a brick to the head it hit him,

"They're _crystals_!"

"You already said that.."

He reached back into the bag and pulled them out in handfuls; some were smaller than palm sized and some were obviously broken. But if they were lucky they wouldn't need many...

Rodney's heart gave a flutter as he embraced this new hope for their escape. Now he just had to figure out how they worked.

"How hard can it be?", he muttered to himself.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!

Thanks, too, for leaving a review... they help to motivate me! I hope I'm going in a good direction with this and you're still enjoying it. Writing leaves you full of doubt!


	14. Chapter 14

oOo

His hands shook; they were sweaty, dirty, and he'd skinned his knuckles on the rough ground, as he was dragged off.

They hadn't found it; amazing really, it had been stuffed into the waist band of his pants and in the struggle had slipped lower. Too low for the Faithful to want to go, obviously.

His weapons were gone, of course. The mix of engineering staff and marines who were now also prisoners, had been searched and relieved of theirs, too.

He'd been kicked a few times; too quick with the smart chat and too slow with the moving. They'd been efficient; worked on his back, low down, and he knew now what bruised kidneys felt like.

They were gathered in a tight group, and that was what was shielding him right now. Zelenka was next to him, listing slightly, being held up more by the general press of bodies than by any one person. He looked dazed... Harry could smell the blood on him, and again felt the cold touch of rage. Everyone was tense, subdued in spirit as well as in actuality; they had all witnessed the incident with the grenade.

Holding out the device, and being watched drunkenly by Radek, he prayed for a miracle. Imperceptibly the group leaned in as if to shield him more efficiently. Several hooded figures were scavenging the camp; they seemed to be looking for weapons mostly, although food was also being taken. They had minimal supervision... it was now or never.

There was a tiny flash in his hand as he widened the field... thankfully, no loud beep, and two points of light blinked up.

They were alive, and Harry allowed himself a grin. Wordlessly he showed the screen to the closest pairs of eyes... the message was silently passed.

An impossible situation, maybe... even if they overcame their captors right now, it would take an age to excavate again. Nor did they know the injuries the two men may have suffered... but Harry believed, nonetheless... they _could_ get out, therefore they _would_.

He would not entertain any other notion.

But without help...? He was going to have to get out of there, back to the jumper... maybe fly to the gate and contact Atlantis...

He craned his neck over the throng, and saw the familiar yellow spectacles of Aldonar.

_Oh, well_, he thought,_ I'm still going to kill him._

oOo

Rodney was staring at them; all lined up in order of size and wholeness.

They were laid out on top of the bag; he was nervous about allowing them to touch the ground.

"You're just going to have to try them, McKay", drawled Sheppard.

He was still sitting on their improvised couch, next to Rodney. The scientist sat, one knee raised and the other, with the bandage, stretched out. John thought it was strange there had been no complaining - not even any signs of pain, from the man. From what little he saw of the wound, he had decided it wasn't too serious in the short term, but would definitely slow them down when they got out of there.

"But we don't know what direction... how far they'll go... hell, we don't know anything!", Rodney answered, throwing up his hands.

"Well, at least we won't suffocate. They make oxygen, right?"

"Yes, although I don't think they produce roast beef sandwiches, so that may be a problem if we're here long term", snarked the doctor.

"Why would we be here long-term?"

"Because, Colonel, we don't know how fast these things are. It might take days to get ten yards, we just don't know"

"All the more reason to try them now, then."

Rodney went on as if Sheppard hadn't spoken.

"Then, of course there's the question of raw material; does it work only on rock... or can it transform top soil, sand, other substances? The reports I've read suggest it only works on rock. We need to be sure that's where we're headed"

"Okay, how do we do that?"

"I've no - wait...! The camera... Radek's camera. I took a shot of the latrines..."

"I'm not going to ask why...", responded Sheppard.

"The background... the background was the rock fall and the mountainside. Look"

He took the small camera from his jacket pocket, and activated the view screen. He beeped his way impatiently to the shot he wanted.

"There... from those trees to that hollow... looks like solid rock to me.", John peered at the screen, only to have it suddenly whisked away from him.

Rodney jumped up and went off, pacing, in that way of his. He was mumbling...

"So that's... what? Twenty feet give or take... no, more like fifteen... then we must be thirty feet from _that_ edge..." Sheppard let Rodney go on without interruption, making his calculations, adding this and that and then taking some away.

The scientist went to stand by the wall on the right of the cave room entrances. It was smooth, creamy coloured rock. John saw the hand holding the camera drop, and the other came up and rubbed at his chin, thoughtfully.

John moved to stand at his shoulder, and noticing him there, Rodney again offered the colonel a squint at the picture.

"What's that? Zoom in..", John ordered.

He had seen something...

"Don't think it goes in any more than that... it is Radek's camera - Walmart special.", explained Rodney, sighing and shaking his head.

John pulled the camera from Rodney and brought it closer. Yes, definitely something...

"It's a trail - through the trees - towards the back of the mountain. We never saw that before"

Rodney was peering over Sheppard's shoulder now, and said,

"Maybe it wasn't there before. They were creeping up on us this morning and we had no idea."

Sheppard gave Rodney a look.

"Who's they?", he asked, although he already knew the answer.

Rodney's expression was unreadable... his voice tight.

"It's them. Don't ask me how I know, I just... do. It's them... they're back", and then Rodney looked away, his arms suddenly folding, body tense.

Sheppard laid a hand on Rodney's shoulder and was not really surprised at the flinch.

"Seems that way... but, more importantly, _that's_ where they came from, and you can bet that's where they'll take our people"

oOo

John knew that look; Rodney had formulated a hypothesis... or a theory... maybe a bit of both.

_Perhaps we'll be okay_ _after all_, he thought.

_Or perhaps not._

"Alright, just... bear with me. I'm thinking out loud here, okay? I don't think it's going to be a problem creating the tunnel - control is what we'll lack, and of course we don't have a road map"

They were standing, as before, in front of the side wall.

Rodney was looking strong, focussed... _comfortable_, even

John had to admire his tenacity; with something to occupy his mind, thoughts of claustrophobia were simply a memory. The light of genius was in his glittering eyes.

"I have in my mind a rowing boat", Rodney began, and as he said this, his hands came up as if to frame a picture, and his eyes closed tightly.

"McKay, did you hit your head?"

"No, listen! If you row a boat, in order to steer you stop rowing on one side - or - or... increase your effort on the other. I think that's how these might work. From the photo and from what we can visualise and deduce about our position, we need to go up and to the right, if we start there on that wall. So, we place two or three at ground level, and they'll... start working, I guess. Then we add, maybe, one at the top, which may go slower, so creating the curve. Then all we do is continue _steering_ it as it progresses."

"Sounds plausible...", Sheppard said.

They stared at each other.

"But what if you're wrong?"

"I've got nothing else, John... we have to try"

oOo

As he approached the wall, the crystal began to warm in his hand. It also glowed strongly.

His jaw worked, still chewing the last bite of the power bar Sheppard had given him.

With some trepidation, he placed the crystal carefully, where floor met wall. It seemed to melt into the surface as he let go, so he quickly placed two more, on either side and further up. It worried him that they had merged so completely with the rock; they may prove impossible to remove. Still, there was no going back now; this was their only chance.

Incredibly, it had already begun. A band of light ran across the floor, extending up to waist level, like a half moon it illuminated the small space. There was a crackling sound like ice breaking. The rock in the middle was disappearing... used up in the process of tunneling, and Rodney found himself mesmerised by its simplicity.

Rodney let it go for some minutes, and then, when he could actually see a cavity forming he stepped up again and added a large crystal at the top of the wall. As if sensing the presence of the other stones, it reached out fingers of light towards the floor, and quickly the ring joined, more rock being pulled from the centre out.

It was working;_ God bless the Tok'ra_, he thought.

He could hear clattering from the store room.

He raised his voice above the hum and crackle...

"Hey, don't break my charger!"

oOo

With all the excitement of discovery and of course, imminent death, his leg had not bothered him. Now though, it pained him fiercely.

The tunnel had progressed far enough for them to move the device some of the way.

Some time ago, about eight feet in, McKay had tried to adjust the angle by placing another crystal. To his consternation, it had not changed the direction, but begun another leg of the tunnel at right angles to the first. Cringing with fear, he went to remove the crystal, not knowing even if he could, or if it would result in injury. Luckily, as his hand approached, it reformed itself and dropped neatly into his palm. Berating himself for his stupidity, he then went to the entrance and re-positioned it close to the others but towards the right. The adjustment was made and they were on track again.

In the store room they had found what they were looking for surprisingly quickly, and carefully cleared space around it. They decided to leave the zpm where it was; it was pretty securely attached to the frame and they had no other safe way to carry it anyway. Rodney couldn't help the little thrill of excitement and satisfaction that ran through him, as he gave the thing an affectionate pat.

Something good would come of all this; something would make all this worthwhile.

But now as they carried the bulky frame slowly through the shining cavern, the colonel in front facing forwards and McKay bringing up the rear keeping an eye on the orientation, his pain grew relentlessly.

He was hoping to keep his discomfort from Sheppard, not wanting to limit their options or force the colonel into anything. It was difficult though, especially as it felt like his flesh was splitting open with every step he took.

The wound was in an awkward place; right below the knee cap and felt deep.

It was also bleeding again and he could feel his pant leg sticking and clinging as he walked.

It was no good, it was just impossible to hide a limp, and he lurched along trying not to bump the charger on the hard floor of the tunnel.

The device was heavier than it looked and having to lock his fingers around it was painful too. He could feel the sweat on his brow, and he grit his teeth trying not to think of the burning in his hands and the tearing at his knee.

"Okay, let's take a break", announced the colonel, and Rodney stopped without a word. He had to unlock his fingers one at a time, where they were holding the metal frame; it was excruciating.

Ahead of them, the glowing leading edge of the tunnel grew and crackled, and he allowed himself some satisfaction; it looked on track to break through soon.

He sank down onto the smooth crystal floor. It was still warm.

Suddenly, Sheppard appeared; he held out a pair of black gloves, the fingerless kind.

"Put them on. They might help", he simply said, and, oddly, McKay didn't feel like giving him a slap; he accepted them with a nod of thanks and awkwardly began to pull them over his aching fingers.

It wasn't easy and after a second or two, without saying anything, Sheppard gently took his hands and carefully helped him ease the fabric on, and fasten the velcro.

Rodney even found it in himself to say a quiet, "Thanks"

Sheppard took his place again at the front and they picked up their burden, ready again to move.

Just then the tone of the crackling changed, and they both had to shield their eyes from the intense light now coming from the business end of the tunnel. It extended maybe fifteen feet in front of them and when they were able to remove the hands from their eyes, the glare having abated suddenly, there was a wonderful rush of perfumed, warm air as they at last broke through to the outside.

Rodney saw green grass... purple flowers... tree branches, and of course, best of all, a perfect blue sky.

They were out.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading... I hope everyone is familiar with the Tok'ra crystals from SG1, I assumed you guys would have heard of them at least.

The story is coming together for the last few chapters, and I'm hoping to keep up the momentum and get new ones out quickly. Thanks for the reviews, I'm glad you're still enjoying it. xxx


	15. Chapter 15

Some swearing ahead...

oOo

"Just give me a second and I'll be right with you", panted Rodney, sprawled on the grassy bank

The man looked all in. Adrenalin let-down was a bitch; his hands shook as he rubbed at them, his leg was bleeding again, sluggishly, beneath the inadequate bandage. Their initial euphoria at seeing daylight, had worn off pretty quickly.

It seemed that the end of the rock wall effectively ended the tunneling process, and the crystalline surface became suddenly, quietly inert; the absence of the crackling and humming almost shocking.

Emerging from the tunnel with their precious burden, they had, unfortunately, found themselves in the middle of dense brush, spiky and unyielding. It had been a struggle for both of them to get through, but it had been worse for McKay with his leg wound.

At last they had reached the path they'd seen on the camera, and Rodney had cast himself down.

John decided to give him a second as he asked, and scampered off up the trail to do a quick recce.

Luckily, the bad guys were litter bugs. He followed a sparse trail of candy wrappers up into the hills behind the mountain. It was densely wooded, invisible from above, and he ran a good ways up the path, before he went back to where he'd left Rodney.

Now, here was McKay, looking like wet lettuce, and they needed to get going... get back to the jumper.

John said brusquely, "Come on, Rodney. Last leg..."

Rodney 'harrumphed' and answered, "Nice choice of words, Colonel", but he got himself moving anyway.

They trekked wearily down the trail, back to the now deserted camp.

By the time they reached the jumper, John was almost exhausted, dragging, rather than carrying, the device along, with Rodney just trailing at the back.

The jumper was untouched, obviously too much for these simple thugs. Rodney collapsed in a heap, gasping, leaving John to drag the charger inside.

Sheppard set about pulling bags and boxes from the storage areas, taking out packets of c4, p90's... his mind whirring away, already forming a plan.

He saw McKay come hobbling in and he tossed a pack of medical supplies at him.

"Can you do it yourself?", he asked sharply, not sparing the time to even look up.

There was no answer.

He looked up, then, surprised by the silence.

He found he was staring into two blue eyes that could only be asking one thing. John answered...

"Look at your leg, buddy. You know I have to go alone"

"John.. listen..", Rodney's voice was not strident, not overbearing; it was tentative... worried. But right now John couldn't afford to give him any quarter.

"No, McKay... you listen to me. I'm in charge, and you _will_ stay here.", he barked, and at Rodney's desolate look, he added, softly...

"No, Rodney... not today"

The two men regarded each other for a moment and then it was the scientist who looked away first, falling back onto a bench and opening the kit.

Satisfied that Rodney would not only do as he asked, but was also going to be able re-dress his leg himself, he went back to his packing.

He was talking fast as he worked...

"Lock this door. Watch the screen. Keep trying for Lorne... you never know. I'll use the radio when I'm closer, they may still have one. Be ready to go... we'll cram everyone in somehow..."

"Eve'y-one?", repeated Rodney, his eyes popping, a pack of wipes between his teeth.

"Well, maybe we'll have two jumpers by then..."

He paused in the doorway. He had two huge holdalls of p-90's, one over each shoulder, a back pack of explosives and his own weapon ready in his hand. Flares hung at his belt, field glasses around his neck and his vest was crammed with what medical supplies and ammunition he could carry.

He could only guess at what he looked like.

It seemed Rodney couldn't resist a final snark.

"Got everything?"

"Ha- ha...", he countered, ready to say more of the same.

But then Rodney's face grew serious.

"Be careful", he said.

John just replied, with a throw-away, "Always", and left at a jog.

oOo

"_Rodney_?! Where's my camera?", the shout set everyone instantly on edge. It came from Dr Zelenka, who was pacing one corner of their tent, his hair sticking out in clumps. He was mumbling too, something about light waves and double A batteries.

Phillips made his way slowly over; they didn't want to draw attention to themselves, and this wasn't the first outburst from the scientist. They'd been lucky; there were no other serious injuries. A couple of marines with superficial stuff, but it could have been a lot worse...

Of course, it had been a lot worse for some of his men.

Their captors were holding them in a large tent. The single entrance was guarded by two of the Faithful, both of whom had turned to look in Radek's direction, suspiciously.

"No, Doctor, Rodney wasn't with us... remember?", he said, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible.

"Oh... yes... of course.", came the puzzled reply.

He was getting worse; his behaviour was definitely off... his response time to simple questions, marginally too long...his choice of words strange... he stood crookedly, but didn't realise it.

The injury to the side of his head looked insignificant, had stopped bleeding long ago.

When Radek had dozed, earlier, against a tent pole, hunched over and shivering, Harry had even run careful fingers across the wound and there was very little swelling. He'd removed his own jacket, wincing slightly at the movement, and tucked it under the scientist's chin.

Harry had seen enough head injuries to know the man needed a doctor - and soon.

He gently curled an arm around the agitated scientist's shoulders, saying smoothly, "Let's sit down, shall we, doc? Can you see me okay?"

"Yes... yes!", he answered, irritated, and then, as he stumbled down to the ground with Phillips controlling his fall, he said, very gravely,

"I think... I may be confused...", he then reached behind him and held up the major's jacket, that had been discarded on the ground, " ...and this is _not_ my jacket."

Phillips took the dusty jacket that was offered, but then pressed it back into the scientist's hand.

"It's okay.. you should rest..."

Before he could say any more, though, he thought he heard..could it be?

The crackle of static...

On his feet, in an instant, he saw someone else rise too; it was Schofield, fumbling about with something.

_Keep it hidden,_ he thought, already hurrying over.

"I thought it was toast. They let me keep it", hissed Schofield, only too eager to pass the noisy thing to the major.

It was Schofield's radio... the guards must have assumed it was damaged beyond use.

Maybe someone had stamped on it - the back was hanging off, but miraculously, it still worked - and miraculously it crackled again.

Phillips ducked down and instinctively several bodies quietly made a huddle around him.

"This is Major Phillips, come in...", he only dared to whisper.

"Major! It's Sheppard. Safe to talk?"

Amazed, Phillips couldn't begin to wonder at his CO's escape, but there was no time for explanations.

"Negative... but talk anyway, sir, it's good to hear your voice."

"I'm on the ridge. I see a yellow tent, it's guarded... two at the front, three others. That you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Be ready. I've got weapons... I have c4... McKay's waiting at -"

_Shit_!... the guards were coming over, Harry keyed the radio off... quickly, he stage whispered,

"If anyone can hear me, please help us -"

"What was that? Who were you talking to?", said one stocky little goon, appearing at his shoulder.

"I was trying to call for help, back to my people... but it's broken"

Surreptitiously, he hooked in a finger, pulling a wire from the back. They snatched it from him, and after satisfying themselves that it was indeed defunct, they hauled him out.

Several of his fellow prisoners protested, but Harry stilled them with a look.

The sunlight was painful outside the tent, and he screwed up his eyes against it; his hands were tied in front of him, before he was pushed into the side of a wooden shed, knocking the wind from him. Next thing he knew, he was kneeling against the shed, his hands up at eye level, shackled to an iron ring.

Hooded figures stood about; they were sniggering...

Harry took this as a rather bad sign.

oOo

The ridge proved to be a good vantage point. From it, he could see the whole camp.

_Time to try the radio..._

He keyed it a couple of times, and waited.

He was ready for anything, but the voice coming through suddenly, startled him nonetheless.

"This is Major Phillips, come in..."

_Thank God_, thought John, more relieved than he thought possible.

"Major! It's Sheppard. Safe to talk?"

Chances were, they were being watched closely by their captors; he would have to be brief.

"Negative... but talk anyway, sir, it's good to hear your voice."

_Good man_, thought John

"I'm on the ridge. I see a yellow tent, it's guarded... two at the front, three others. That you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Be ready. I've got weapons... I have c4... McKay's waiting at the jumper", he added, but before he'd reached the end of his sentence, there was a click; the major had severed the connection.

Suddenly worried, Sheppard raised the field glasses, watching the yellow tent closely.

_Dammit;_ Phillips was being dragged out, and it looked like he was to be made an example of.

Sheppard dropped the glasses, fumbled for his weapon and brought it up. Then he lowered it.

He could get off a shot from here - a few shots even, take out those guys that had Phillips. But the whole camp would be alerted, and no one would get home. If he stuck to his original plan, he could get weapons to the men in the tent and take out some of the enemy, before anyone had a clue what was happening. Sheppard knew he had to keep going, and he knew the major would agree with him.

He could already see that the assault on the officer had begun, but he bit back his fury, focussing instead on the next step.

However brutal, this was going to make one hell of a diversion, and he would damn well make it count.

He only hoped that Harry could endure long enough for John to bring the rescue to him.

oOo

He'd been beaten before, but he couldn't think of a time when it had hurt this bad.

He wished they had taken him further away; it couldn't have been easy for the others, hearing the sounds of his punishment.

It hadn't even taken very long, but these guys had known exactly what they were doing.

As a captive, you were usually more valuable alive than dead, any physical abuse likely to be painful-but-trivial. So when the group of thugs assigned to him had gone straight to painful-maybe-terminal, he'd been surprised to say the least.

Obviously, they didn't care about any value he might have. Face it... they just didn't like him.

They'd left him semi-conscious, on his back with blood thick in his mouth, struggling to avoid throwing up. His arms were suspended over him, hanging by the wrists; they felt dead, which was a good thing actually. He made a face, concentrating... trying to keep them still.

_Okay, think... what're we working with here?_

Well, collar bone's bust... pretty sure of that, seeing as how I heard it go - and the arm... it kinda feels broken, too... or dislocated. Various cracks on the head... not good. Breathing's hard, so probably a few ribs busted. At least the old legs are okay. Maybe I could walk, just don't ask me to hold hands.

He must have gone under then, just for a short nap. He awoke to whispering, and thought,_ voices... disturbing._

Maybe he'd got a head injury like Zelenka's; they could get along famously... double act... the two dip-sticks...

"_Major_!", the whisper was louder; okay, not in his head.

Noise, then; explosions... shooting.

Sheppard was there... wrong way up, though. Funny...

"Everyone's rescued except us... come on", and upside-down Sheppard had his knife in his hand, gleaming wickedly.

"Sorry about this, Harry..."

That was the colonel again, but... _oh, Jesus Christ_... his arms were moving, bones grating and white, white hot... and he didn't think his brain could take it.

He might have groaned, he might have flinched, he most probably sobbed... but that bastard Sheppard kept going.

He heard someone whisper, "Bastard..."

"Yeah, I know... been practising. Think you can walk?", but his CO was already pulling him bodily up from the ground, by the shirt front, and obviously couldn't give a rat's ass whether he thought he could walk or not.

Harry wanted to call him _bastard_ again, but couldn't make his face work. Suddenly he was walking, leaning against a sturdy prop that seemed also to be walking. It was painful; his arms wanted to move and dangle all over the place... and every time they did... _shit, shit, shit..._

He must have said that out loud because, a voice said, "No swearing, Major, it's bad for morale"

He so wanted those arms to be still, _please God_...

So he said aloud, "Stop...", but the colonel said, "Can't stop now, we're almost home", and it was the strangest thing because that didn't quite make sense, and he giggled.

"Okay, soldier, listen... do exactly as I say. You're walking great... you have to just keep on walking, okay? See... I'm not even holdin' you, am I? I'm _ordering_ you to keep walking, understand?"

The words were difficult; it was very hot. He was trying his best, but his eyes kept rolling around in his head, like the tide going in and out, and _wow_ did it make him sick...

He understood though - he got it.

He was to keep walking.

He could do that... do that for the colonel. Sheppard didn't need to order him, he'd do it because the man had asked him.

Oh.. now... there you go... he was walking off on his own already. Not so hard really. His legs felt like they were working by rubber band power; he thought they might simply fall off soon.

Looking down at himself, he noticed Zelenka had brought his jacket back, because now he was wearing it again and his arms were threaded into it in a very strange way; through the front, and it looked like he had no hands. This made him wobble, his equilibrium gone, and he stumbled only barely keeping upright.

His rubber bands had gone slack and it looked as if the colonel wasn't around to wind them back up. It was hard to see; the thin, bright strip of sky above him was the only thing keeping him on the trail.

After a lot of eye rolling and generally falling about, he hit a wall; only it was a soft wall, that wrapped around him and had him laying down on the ground before he could think what was happening.

"Where's Sheppard?", the wall asked him; it had a face like Dr McKay's.

_Yeah... where is he, anyway_?, he may have replied.

Idly he gave some thought as to why the colonel had asked him to walk off on his own like that, but that thought slid away like all his others had, and he let them go gladly, feeling far too sick and far too stupid to stay awake a second longer.

oOo

They weren't going to make it, and that just stung him.

As daring plans went, it had been a good one. The explosives were placed. He'd silently taken out the guards behind the yellow tent; he could have been spotted at any time, but fortune was smiling and no one marked him. He pushed the weapons under the canvas, and set off the charges. Really, the marines did most of the hard work. _They are damn good_, he thought. Protecting the engineering guys, working in such intuitive synchronicity that it was as if the plan was theirs. It left him free to get the major.

He was not doing so well...

Now they were being followed and their pursuers were gaining. The choice was not difficult to make.

Harry was so spaced out he could be talked into anything; poor guy, he'd feel bad later, but at least he'd have a later.

John pulled them both up short, and began to take off his belt. He leaned the injured man against a tree and as carefully as he could, given that they were very much on the clock, he lifted the obviously broken arm and tucked it in the belt. He saw the glint of bone within the blood stained sleeve and wished he had time for proper first aid. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and put it on the major. Through all this the other man had said nothing, and John was worried by that fact more than any other.

He spoke while he fastened the jacket, bringing the other arm gently through to be secured by the zipper. He wasn't sure about this arm; possibly collar bone, possibly dislocation. He was out of time so everything else would have to wait.

As long as Harry kept going, John could repel the enemy and give him a chance. He told the major to keep walking - ordered him, in fact.

Harry looked sick, leaning against the tree; he was pale and sweaty, barely holding on to consciousness. But he must have heard, because he shambled away, off down the track, when John gave him a gentle push.

The few seconds he had left, he used to re-load his weapons, then he turned and made his way back the way he had come.

oOo

TBC and, as always, thanks for reading...


	16. Chapter 16

oOo

"Colonel Sheppard, so nice to see you... and I thought you had not come. Am I to assume that Dr McKay is here too?"

Aldonar had him in a dark, smelly tent. They were alone and he was of course helpless, his hands bound behind him and his weapons gone. His stand against the enemy to allow for Phillips' escape had been short lived. He'd been overpowered and brought here, luckily none the worse for his little act of defiance.

Obviously, they wanted him unharmed.

"I would especially like to see the good doctor again...", Aldonar mused lightly.

Something in the old man's voice made John look up sharply. Aldonar stared into his eyes, a smile creeping to his lips.

"Yes, Colonel. Rodney and I know each other _very_ well."

The realisation that this man could have been involved in McKay's suffering, hit the colonel hard; his eyes flashed.. he felt like he could explode with anger.

"You're animals... all of you. You don't deserve to live.", Sheppard managed to spit out, rage making his mind hum and his hands shake.

"Well, let's see if we can't locate him.", said Aldonar, evenly, and he ripped the radio from John's lapel.

"No... wait... You've got me. You don't need McKay", he said quickly.

"On the contrary. You are worthless to me. It's Dr McKay I want"

Sheppard saw Aldonar nod to someone, there was a blur of movement and then just blackness.

oOo

By the time the first of their people came running down the forest trail, Rodney had almost worn out the jumper floor with pacing; well, hobbling actually.

He'd been on his own a while - probably close to an hour, and he didn't think it should be taking this long. His eyes were drawn again to the shiny rack, at the side of him. He resisted the temptation to begin dismantling it; it could wait... would have to wait.

He spent a while fussing over his leg.

With teeth gritted, he had cleaned out the wound as best he could, applying antibiotic cream and butterfly strips. Ripping off the bloody and torn leg of his pants, he wrapped the injury carefully with a nice new dressing that actually fit. He'd also played around with a weird pressure bandage thing he'd found; it fit over his knee and kept everything from drifting about. He even self administered a pain relief shot - not morphine, but one of the vials Carson had recommended for moderate to severe pain.

He tried to raise Lorne every ten minutes or so, but no joy so far. Then, had come the explosions... low rumbles and smoke above the trees. It couldn't be long now, could it?

He strained his eyes towards the gap in the trees where the path was hidden, and then... yes!

Here they were, _thank God,_ he thought, and opened the back door.

"Schofield! get over here!", he shouted, and the corporal jogged up to the back of the jumper, several bewildered looking personnel trailing after him.

"Dr McKay... is Major Lorne back, sir?", he asked hopefully, out of breath, looking around.

Rodney shook his head, impatiently; he had other things on his mind.

"Where's Sheppard?"

"Don't know sir. He went to get Major Phillips. They were last out"

"Okay, what's the plan, then?"

"Sir?"

"Well, if you hadn't noticed, marine, you are the ranking officer here... at least until the colonel gets back. My advice? Get yourself a plan, sonny... a good one"

Schofield didn't wait around, just gave him a doubtful look, and ran off to help the last of their people as they entered the camp.

Craning his neck in that direction, Rodney saw a lone figure, far out, stumbling down the trail.

Not Sheppard, though... Phillips.

The major was coming towards him, head bobbing, his feet taking him on a drunken path from side to side. His clothes were dusty and stained, and as he walked it looked to Rodney like he held onto himself, shoulders hunched and tense.

And there was blood; blood on him and blood on his clothes.

"Major? Harry?", called McKay. He had pushed past the mill of people now gathered and was walking out to meet the major.

It was as if the man hadn't heard him... hadn't even seen him, and Rodney was taken completely by surprise when the tall soldier just plowed straight into him, nearly knocking both of them to the dirt.

Instead, Rodney managed to slow his inevitable descent. Then, Rodney was crouched, painfully at his side, one hand carefully supporting a damp and blood smeared head.

"Major Phillips?"

No answer; the major's eyes tried to focus.

"Where's Sheppard?", he pressed. It almost looked like the injured man might say something; his eyes opened wide suddenly, his lips moved purposefully. But it was not to be and the body on the ground went limp, head lolling against Rodney's hand.

One of the marine medics ran up, instantly assessing and dealing with the major and Rodney moved slowly back. Worry etched itself on his face. There was a sudden crackle from the radio; it startled him.

_Lorne! At last..._

He hobbled back into the ship and snatched up the set, answering, "Lorne this is McKay! About damn time, Major!", he grouched, but he couldn't help his sudden, relieved smile.

There was no reply at first and Rodney frowned, beginning to fiddle with the radio's settings and such, but then a crackle came through and a voice; but it wasn't Lorne's.

"We have Major Sheppard. We want to trade. Come alone, and unarmed, or he dies"

oOo

"Look. You're... sick. We have a jumper and someone to fly it. The device we came for is on board... there's no question... you should go", reasoned Rodney.

Radek was sitting upright in a corner of the tent where the injured were being dealt with. Rodney had never seen the man so pale; the medics feared brain swelling. Zelenka was going through the pockets of a jacket; it wasn't his, and Rodney wondered where it had come from.

Schofield was there, in conference with some of the other marines, no doubt hatching a plot to rescue Sheppard. Rodney gave a snort; not going to happen. Rodney wouldn't risk the life of the colonel; "Come alone", the voice had said, and to keep John from harm he would do just that.

"What about you?", the Czech asked listlessly, briefly looking up from his task.

"I'm not leaving without the colonel", McKay answered.

"You can't mean you're going after him?", Radek's voice was low.

Rodney looked at the doctor, suddenly, as if he had two heads.

"Why am I discussing this with you? You're a nut case, Radek... I know you can't help it, but you are.", he tried to say the last part affectionately, and awkwardly patted at Zelenka's hand.

His eyes flickered from the confused Radek to the man laid out on a stretcher next to him. The major's head was swathed in bandages, his arms splinted and lashed to his chest; he looked like a mummy. He was rambling... muttering disjointedly, eyes open but seeing nothing, neither awake nor asleep.

"Hell, you're _both_ nut cases...", said Rodney quietly, shaking his head slowly.

"... and you both need a doctor", he added firmly.

"There is nothing wrong with _me_, McKay", Radek pronounced with his back straight, an assertion ruined by the fact that he was going through the same pockets again and again.

"We'll agree to disagree on that one, my friend", the ghost of a smile now on McKay's lips.

Leaning in slightly, he asked, carefully, "Radek. What are you looking for?", not really wanting to know the answer.

Equally carefully, and very slowly, Radek answered, "I.. don't.. know", then he nodded gravely and continued his searching.

oOo

Everyone was pretty busy, so no one noticed him slip away, up the trail and into the woods. His leg throbbed a little but nothing he couldn't handle.

With any luck by the time Schofield missed him, he would be on his way back with the colonel

He had no idea how far away the camp was... didn't even know what he was going to do when he got there.

Secretly, he was hoping that once he had located the colonel, John would leap up, reveal several hidden weapons and together they would put down the enemy and easily escape.

More probably, he would have to bargain; they obviously wanted something in exchange for Sheppard's life. The camera was in his pocket, maybe that - but, no... technology might be a bad thing to flash around. Medical supplies maybe, food definitely... he'd seen the discarded wrappers. To that end he had his pockets crammed with power bars, medicine - anything he could find in the short time he had.

Hopefully, they would see something they liked.

He had gone maybe twenty minutes into the forest, when he was quickly and silently surrounded by a group of hooded figures. His heart skipped at the sight of them, but he screwed up his courage, before following them towards a small tent at the edge of what looked like the main compound. Smoke was still rising from several blast sites on the periphery and the air was heavy with it.

After undergoing a cursory search he was pushed without ceremony into the tent.

oOo

Inside it's dark, musty smelling. He peers through the gloom and makes out a figure standing off to one side. His attendants have not entered with him and vaguely he wonders why.

As his eyes adjust, the face of the motionless and robed figure begins to take form...

His heart labours, but it's too late; he walked into the lion's den willingly... and now the game is up.

"Welcome back, Dr McKay. We so much enjoyed your company last time..."

He knows that voice; the inflection, the coldness, the threat it holds.

Sheppard lies crumpled at the man's feet; he is motionless, Rodney notices that the pathetic band-aid is still there.

The man he knows so well is speaking again.

"You were strong, Doctor... but this one? Well, this one will be pure pleasure... _my dear Rodney_..."

The last three words cause a sudden physical response; he falls to his knees and retches.

Because now, he knows beyond a doubt, who this is.

His mind takes him back; back to a cold room made of stone, back to pain, desolation and hopelessness. A cloaked figure, feared even by Rodney's own tormentors. A man who had tried to break him, tried to steal his sanity away; a man who had hurt him... many, many times.

"I have a proposition for you, so you must listen", he begins, patiently.

"You and your kind have caused us great harm. But we are forgiving. One of you must stay; the other can go."

"Why?", Rodney manages to say, but it's hard when all the blood in your body now runs cold and has descended to your feet.

A bony hand is carding through Sheppard's hair, as if the old man already owns him.

"Because it amuses me... because I like to give difficult choices..."

His eyes glitter in the darkness.

"... because I don't like to fail."

He straightens, and asks coldly,

"Now... who will it be?"

Rodney's heart constricts; terror that he well remembers comes crowding back to him, but whispering behind those thoughts is, _here's a way out... take it. _

He always knew, when push came to shove, he would. It was not in his nature to sacrifice himself. All his life being told that his value lay in his intellect... irreplaceable, priceless intellect.

How he wishes he could walk away and not look back... leave all this behind and save himself.

He knows all this, but, _God have mercy..._ he knows he will have to stay.

He has the means to save one of them... and it has to be Sheppard, because physically, Rodney cannot walk out of there. He is trying now... willing his legs to move,_ get up, McKay, you can do it. _

All he can do, though, is stare transfixed at his friend. He wants to run, he really does. There was never anything wrong with cowardice, and simply remembering what they did to him is torture in itself.

But he can't let them do it to anyone else; certainly not to his friend.

Their conversation in the tunnel comes back to him and he realises that perhaps there is healing in this; for both of them. He prays for a quick death, and hopes the knowledge that Sheppard is safe will make it worthwhile.

Somewhere along the way, this man's life had become more important to him than his own.

He will give up his life for John, and that's how he will know; know that they were brothers... and what does a brother do, but give up his own life?

He's embarrased to feel tears sliding down his face. He likes to think they are tears of noble sacrifice... in reality, they are the tears of someone so terrified that all semblance of normal behaviour is slipping away. His courage snaps in two, irreparably. Childhood fears... the dark, the boogeyman, all these would now return, along with the terrors and unthinkable cruelty of his last imprisonment.

He can't help wondering if, this time, they will take his sanity.

He calms himself sufficiently to speak. His words are quiet, barely above a whisper.

In a voice that is not his own he says, "Tell them I'm dead... please", he can't risk John coming for him again.

"As you wish, Doctor"

"You'll keep your word? If - if I stay?"

Aldonar's face is rapturous.

"Oh, Doctor... I was hoping that would be your decision".

As two nameless minions appear to take out the unconscious man, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from begging them to take him instead. Sheppard's head is lolling and Rodney prays he will stay unconscious long enough.

_I hate you for this,_ he says to himself, because he thinks that maybe hating Sheppard is the only thing that will get him through, this time. Before, he'd used his memories... of summer rain, of a sky full of stars, of Atlantis amid the cool, blue ocean, of good times and good friends... They kept him hoping, added to his strength. Now, though, with his strength gone and only his despair to cling to, he lets all of that go.

He forces himself to mumble, _just go, get out._

As John disappears and he is pulled roughly to his feet, Aldonar steps up wearing the most horrifyingly beautiful smile.

"Welcome home... my son", he whispers, tears of joy running down his cheeks.

oOo

For many like him, it is the giving of pain that thrills.

But to Aldonar, ex-Lord and leader of his people, it's all about the fear; to keep someone in the grip of terror for the longest time, with no hope, and only speculation on what would come next. To manipulate by quiet suggestion, to lead a person to the very brink of sanity, and have them beg you for death.

He lived for it... it _was_ his life. It was not strange, nor distasteful... this is all he has ever known. When he told McKay that he enjoyed his work, he was in earnest. Of course, at that time, McKay didn't know who he was. He was always careful to keep his identity from his victims; it worked so much better to be a _nameless_ horror.

He liked to work on McKay; he would shiver and shake, seem so feeble and pathetic... so easy to hurt. But Aldonar always believed there was more, and it both tantalised and tormented him. He would employ all his skill, draw from years of experience, but the doctor eluded him. He saw the edge, but refused to jump. Most people after a few sessions, willingly threw themselves over, but not McKay. Oh, he was afraid... yes... no doubt about that.

But he could hold something of himself back, something that protected him, kept him sane, robbed Aldonar of his perfect delight, his perfect moment of ecstasy.

Yes, McKay had been a challenge... and would be again. This time, though, he would win the battle, because this time Rodney had said goodbye to his friends forever, and had nothing left to fight with.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading! Thankyou to each and every reviewer... you help me so much to keep going. xxx


	17. Chapter 17

oOo

"Where is Dr McKay?", asked Schofield, nervously, trying to keep his distance without looking like he was keeping his distance.

The small Czech doctor was taking apart a uniform jacket with a scalpel from the medical kit. He glanced up when he heard the corporal's question.

"He's gone to get the colonel", he stated matter-of-factly.

"What!?"

Now detached, with cut threads dangling, Radek added this patch pocket to his pile of pockets, and moved on to the next. The blade glinted dangerously.

Schofield straightened and rubbed at the back of his neck with one grubby hand. He didn't know what to do. In at the deep end... he needed time to think.

He always knew this might happen; that, by default, he would be left in command. It both scared and excited him; a chance to see what he was made of... to show his capabilities and demonstrate his years of training. The colonel had told them all - prepare for command... it could come at any time.

The corporal knew what Sheppard meant; he'd heard what happened to the first military leader of Atlantis; Sheppard had first hand experience of being thrown in at the deep end.

Suddenly he knew the question he should be asking himself..._ What would the colonel do?_

Alright; they had wounded, some of them serious. They had secured the item they had come to get. The jumper was operable and could carry them all home if required. Two personnel were missing, and believed to be with the enemy. Never leave a man behind... the colonel said that, too.

Okay then, it was tough at the top, and his duty was clear; he would stay and take a small team of marines to look for their people. Everyone else would leave, and him and his men - and hopefully the two missing team members - could be evacuated by Major Lorne on his return. Yes, he was pretty sure that's what Sheppard would do.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of jumper engines.

Major Lorne was back.. at last.

Yes, command might come soon and at any time...

_But not today_, thought the corporal, wondering why he felt so disappointed.

oOo

"Alright. Someone tell me everything... and do it quickly", Evan bellowed as he strode from the jumper, Ronon and Teyla close behind him.

He took in the state of the camp; the signs of violence, tents in disarray, boxes upended, their contents flung about, the smell of explosives in the air... the line of bodies, reverently covered.

He berated himself for being so obviously too late. They'd come under some unexpected fire, clipped the treetops and lost some nav. controls; stupid stuff, really, but enough to slow them down and make finding the camp again difficult.

Schofield must have heard his snappy order and the young corporal jogged quickly up to him.

"Sir, I'm glad to see you. I'm.. ", he began, before he stopped and looked something akin to embarrassed, "... I'm ranking officer, sir."

Lorne's face fell and he found his eyes drawn to the row of blanket-draped bodies. Then he looked grimly at the corporal and simply said, "Report"

There then followed a concise, orderly account from the soldier, detailing the events of the past day. There was a list of wounded, and even a brief assessment of the enemy's strength; Lorne couldn't help but be impressed.

"Where's Major Phillips?" he asked, and Schofield led him to a tent set aside for the wounded.

The major was on a stretcher, shoulders slightly raised, his head cast back against a stark white pillow. His face was shiny, pasty white and Lorne thought he looked as if he was about to throw up; unconsciously he backed off some.

Phillips' head rolled slowly sideways, alerted by the rustle of clothing and Lorne's step on the dirt floor. Evan saw an IV snaking from his arm, and wondered how they attached it, considering how the man's arms were wrapped almost completely in white bandages.

"Good to see.. you, major", he said, and swallowed, the nausea showing on his face.

"How you doin', Harry?", he asked gently, crouching at his side

"Don't worry... I won't puke on you."

Evan couldn't help his smile. Harry's eyes flickered and he raised his head; he'd caught sight of Ronon, standing behind Lorne.

"Ronon...", and the Satedan nodded his aknowledgement.

"Aldonar, he... tried to kill... they escaped... I.."

The major obviously thought they expected to hear his report.

"It's alright, Harry. We know.. we're going after them; we'll get them back", Evan assured him.

"Them?", asked Harry.

"Yeah... McKay's missing too", said Ronon with regret.

Looking even more washed out than he had before, Phillips' head fell back with a plop onto the pillow. With his eyes closed and his breath now coming in short gasps, he said,

"I told him... told Aldonar, I'd kill him. Ronon..." There was something bothering him, and his eyes met Ronon's.

And it seemed that Ronon instinctively knew the major's mind, because he answered with a quick,

"I'll take care of it..." Lorne looked back to find that he was already preparing to leave, checking his weapon... his radio... patting down his pockets.

"But there may be a line-up", he added, his eyes glittering.

"Dex, I don't -", warned Evan.

"I'll be in touch", he said, and that was that, because he breezed from the tent without a backward glance.

oOo

John Sheppard was really trying.

He forced his mind to reach out; he located all his points in space, one by one; hands, head, shoulders... all the things that hurt. He couldn't move, though, or even open his eyes.

There were words buzzing around his head, and he didn't know where they came from.

_"Tell them I'm dead... please."_

_"As you wish, Doctor"_

_"You'll keep your word? If - if I stay?"_

_"Oh, Doctor... I was hoping that would be your decision"._

Sounded like Rodney... sounded like something going on, and John tried to move.. willed himself to do so.

His mouth was sour and he recognised the signs of unconsciousness... maybe he was still unconscious. He managed a swallow, but it was a mistake, causing a sudden wave of nausea.

Where was he? was he down or up... awake or asleep? All was confusion and dizzy half-awareness.

Every sound was an echo, bouncing painfully off his ear drums and making his head spin.

Then without any warning, he was moving... but not under his own steam; the toes of his boots were dragged across a dirt floor, his head was painfully heavy and his neck stiff.

Suddenly yellow light brightened his closed eyes, and he breathed easier; he was outside.

He cracked open eyes that stung and saw rough ground, mud and grass speeding past in his vision. He was dangling in a solid grip, a figure at each side of him. They jiggled him and wrenched his arms in their sockets, and that brought him around better than a slap.

All at once they stopped their forward motion, and he did get a slap... three in fact, fast and stinging across both cheeks, and he was pushed down on his back, by the palm of a meaty hand.

"Hey... you... listen good. Your friend's dead. We killed him, right?", John knit his brows... this was confusing.

McKay... did they mean McKay? Wait ... wait.. Rodney was at the jumper... wasn't he?

John struggled with his defective memory. Rodney's voice... he had heard it back there. Back there with - with - Aldonar.

Shit, Rodney was with that mad man...

_"You'll keep your word? If - if I stay?"_

No... he wouldn't... Rodney would never...

_"Tell them I'm dead... please."_

John's eyes closed; what had Rodney done?

After everything... he'd failed his friend again.

He brought his hands shakily to his face.

He forgot about the two men at his side.

Perhaps they were unsure as to whether he had been listening or maybe they just enjoyed their work...

Either way, one of them delivered a swift kick to the side of his head, and his lights popped out again.

oOo

"Sheppard!"

Ronon had sped up the path, blaster at the ready. He didn't wait for Teyla; she'd catch up. He didn't wait for orders or back-up; he knew everything he needed to know.

After running for five minutes he found a dark shape, crumpled on the path, blocking his way; it was Sheppard. On first inspection he looked unhurt, but Dex saw the boot mark on the side of his head and winced. He pulled the man into the cover of the trees and set about trying to revive him. Ronon grabbed a water bottle, twisted off the top and splashed it liberally over the colonel's slack features.

The man spluttered awake, grimacing and thrashing his limbs.

"It's me... alright?", he held Sheppard's shoulders tightly.

"Ronon... we have to go.. go after -", he gasped.

Sheppard was agitated... beyond his injury, something else was driving him.

"Hey... easy Sheppard... McKay; where's -"

"No! He-he's not dead... they said... but, it's-it's a lie..", Sheppard had hold of Dex's sleeves now, his face was desperate.

"Alright! I get it. I believe you.", he tried to reassure the man, who seemed to visibly relax on hearing this.

It was enough for Ronon; seemed as though the good doc was in trouble again, and Ronon relished the thought of settling the score with these dishonourable people. It would be his pleasure to dispatch Aldonar when the time came and he would do it for Major Phillips... for himself... for all of them.

He hauled the colonel onto his feet and passed him the hand gun he had brought along.

"Let's go", he said.

oOo

TBC and thanks for taking time to review... I appreciate it!


	18. Chapter 18

oOo

His head hurt... hurt a lot, actually. But not intolerably, and not enough to send him staggering off towards aid, leaving McKay out there on his own.

But the noise... the noise did not help, and he half wished Ronon would just give the man a slap and be done.

They had entered the camp of the Faithful just minutes before. Ronon, jogging along hardly sweating; John, with his shirt sticking to his back and the pounding of his heart loud in his ears.

It was mostly deserted, but they had found one follower left behind, foraging through the empty tents. Ronon had easily grabbed the squawking man by the scruff of the neck, and was now dangling him in front of Sheppard. He was still squawking.

"Shut the hell up!", shouted John, closing his eyes and rubbing at their grittiness.

The robed man mercifully and suddenly, ceased his wriggling and his squawking.

"Where's the old guy... your leader?", he asked again.

"I told you I don't know", he turned frightened eyes towards Ronon then, and must have seen his own demise written there, maybe, because he hurriedly went on, "But, they-they could have gone up to the Tower... my Lord often takes special prisoners there"

John felt his anger surge on hearing this, but went on...

"Tower? Show us.."

The nervous little man indicated a rough track through the trees; the way was rutted by fresh cart tracks.

"Where'd everyone else go?", growled Ronon, pointing to the other footprints, hoofprints and tracks, that left the camp in many directions.

"Home..", the man immediately said, "..many of us did not want to be here, we have families... they were threatened", and his eyes cast down, to gaze mournfully at the muddy ground.

"Let him go, Ronon", said John wearily, and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Now released, the litle man scampered off.

"Alright... we follow, I guess...", said John, thinking out loud.

"On foot?", asked Ronon, doubtfully, "We don't have time Sheppard... McKay doesn't have time"

He was already striding over to a small corral. Six horses grazed on the sparse grass, heads down ignoring the two men.

"Can you ride?", asked Ronon, unlatching the gate and already looking over a couple of likely mounts, running a hand along one animal's flank.

John did a kind of double take; did that mean the Satedan _could_ ride?

John hadn't been near a horse since his teens. That occasion hadn't been a great success; his answer should have been, _No, I can't._ Instead he answered,

"How hard can it be?"

Ronon brought out two beasts; one, a chestnut colour, the other gray flecked.

"Where are the saddles?", John asked carefully, looking around.

Ronon smirked and answered, "I believe you call it bare back riding", and he handed over the reins of the gray pony to John. He took them and thought to himself that at least they wouldn't be hanging on to the horse's mane.

"Okay, let's hit the trail...", he said dubiously.

oOo

"Grip with your knees! Knees!", Ronon bellowed from just behind him.

The wind rushing past his head made John's ears ache. _Oh, for a balaclava_, he thought, and he smiled to himself as an image of McKay in his childhood headgear came to mind; apparently Canadian winters required such extreme coverage.

This was not how riding was done, he was sure of that; his butt was slapping the horses back in time with the pounding sound of its hooves... and every painful bounce almost ejected him from his precarious seat.

They were going uphill... possibly, and he only knew that because the butt slapping was now accompanied by sliding backwards. He'd given up holding the reins correctly, and he now had his fingers wrapped tightly around the leather of the bridle... arms outstretched. Now and again he was bent so far forward, his nose bumped the horse's sweaty neck.

Looking behind awkwardly, he could see a shape that was obviously Ronon, atop his chestnut mount, but the image was all mashed up and blurry, due to the intense and concussive, wobbling of his head. He felt like he was riding a jack hammer.

After what seemed like an age, galloping along with branches whipping past his head, they emerged into a clearing.

Fortunately, the horse stopped its mad dash with no encouragement from John. It probably recognised that they were at their destination, and all at once slowed to a trot. This new kind of rhythm, however, proved too much for the pilot's equilibrium, and he felt his rear end bounce up for the last time as he pin wheeled gracelessly around the horse's head. He ended up by some miracle, on his feet at the animal's shoulder, still clinging to its bridle.

He looked behind... Ronon cantered up, hardly out of breath, a big grin on his face.

"That was good", was all he said.

oOo

The cart rumbled along the rough track, every rock and pot-hole jolting Rodney as he lay on his side in the bed of the cart. He was cold but sweating, his clothing stuck to him and chilled his body.

He felt like shit; they'd knocked him about pretty good... Aldonar's goons. Smacked him around the head a bit... pushed him over a few times... and very unpleasantly, punched him several times in the belly.

For all the rest, he managed to remain quite defiant; but the fire that ignited in his abdomen, with the onslaught of several fists, just brought tears to his eyes. All he could do was pant through it, trying not to whimper.

The others had gone; there was only one minion accompanying Aldonar at the front of the cart, and Rodney could only wonder at his purpose.

He was trying not to think about Sheppard and the others. He hoped they'd got away, that Phillips and Radek were getting the help they needed.

He pretended he didn't hope for rescue...

... and he absolutely refused to aknowledge the little voice in the back of his mind, assuring him that John would come for him, that he, unlike anyone else, would not be deterred by the unreliable news of his death.

_No, push all that aside; face it... you're on your own now._

oOo

The Tower was in fact nothing of the sort.

It was boxy in shape, low, and built of something like sandstone. It was maybe the size of the jumper bay, no more, and hadn't much in the way of height or visible defences. Built partly underground, the 'front door' was reached by descending a short sloping walkway, dug into the soft earth. The walls were featureless, and John could see no windows or any other openings.

The two men set their horses loose at the edge of the forest, before continuing on foot towards the building.

Both had weapons ready as they made their stealthy way across a weed strewn area, that was almost a courtyard. They were surprised to see no signs of life, but as they drew nearer to the walkway, Ronon grunted softly and nudged Sheppard.

The colonel's eyes followed the Satedan's to an abandoned cart hitched to a pair of tan horses, standing by the sandy wall.

Their eyes ever watchful, they entered the dark building.

oOo

McKay was lying on one side, half propped up. His shirt was stained and damp looking. Thin rope bound his wrists tightly behind him. John couldn't see any obvious injuries and for that, he was grateful. The scientist's head was turned away, and John couldn't see his face, but he did see the quivering neck muscles as Rodney shivered in the cold chamber.

They had crept down the short passage they'd found at the foot of the ramp, hearing footsteps echoing from further in. A door standing ajar provided them with cover as John peered through the gap into the room beyond.

Shifting his eyes from Rodney, John saw Aldonar on the other side of the chamber, lighting candles; _very Hammer Horror_, he thought.

"Hold it.. ", said Sheppard, as he stepped out, absolute contempt in his voice. Ronon slunk in behind him and took up a defensive position close to McKay.

"Stand back from the wall... put that down", he said, nodding towards the lighted taper in Aldonar's gnarled hand. The old man slowly raised it to his lips and it was extinguished in a puff of blue smoke, before he discarded it to the dirty floor. Candlelight flickered on every face, and gleamed from the gun in John's hand.

"Y-you came for me..?", Rodney's voice arose from the corner. John didn't turn, but continued to train his weapon on Aldonar.

"What... did you think I wouldn't? I thought you knew me better than that..." said the colonel, "Anyway, we'll do all this later"

When McKay's response was just puzzled silence, John explained,

"You know how it goes - I get mad at you about coming for me and you get mad at me about coming for you... "

"Oh... ", was all that came in reply.

Ronon stowed his blaster and busied himself untying McKay's bonds, while John held his gun on the old man. Aldonar, standing motionless on the stone steps, simply looked malevolently at John through his weird yellow lenses.

Suddenly there was a blur of movement from the doorway, and not quickly enough, Sheppard reacted. He brought around his weapon, only to have it catapult from his hand. He went down in a tussle of arms and legs.

Sheppard's gun skittered away even as he grabbed for it, two murderous hands squeezing at his throat. Kicking out with a booted foot, Sheppard managed to wind his assailant and the grip on his neck loosened.

Twisting, and bringing the man over on top of him, he finally sent him off to sleep, with a closed fist punch to the jaw.

There were spots before his eyes, as he staggered, panting, to his hands and knees. He patted the ground in front of him ineffectually, trying to locate his weapon.

Then, in the periphery of his vision, he saw Rodney... saw him stoop, saw him lift something from the floor; it was the gun.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading... Sorry for the delay, but I had to work - I wish earning money wasn't so _necessary_! Promise next chapter really soon... xxx


	19. Chapter 19

oOo

The gun looked heavy in his hands - clumsy even; they were, after all, hands that were unused to holding much of anything with any strength or precision.

He had to wrap both hands around, to keep the weapon steady, and he held it in front of himself, whilst chewing at his bottom lip; he was staring wide-eyed at Aldonar.

Sheppard's eyes widened, too, when he fully took in McKay's appearance.

_My God_, thought John, the man was sick, that much was obvious; was his leg wound infected? Surely it was too recent an injury, but Sheppard saw the pallor of Rodney's cheeks, his red-rimmed eyes, and he wondered just how lucid the doctor actually was.

Rodney pointed the gun at this man who had taken so much from him, and it trembled only slightly in his grasp; cold steel with cold determination.

"Rodney, what are you doing?", Sheppard asked, deliberately keeping his voice neutral. His eyes flickered from Rodney to Aldonar... from Aldonar to Rodney.

"You know what I'm doing... don't interfere.", Rodney answered in a low monotone.

The old man was standing as if frozen. He hadn't moved since the Lanteans' arrival.

John got up slowly, took a swallow and dusted himself off. Wordlessly he moved in front of Rodney, effectively ruining a potential shot.

"Get out of my way..", said Rodney, calmly.

"No...", John shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes from Rodney's haunted ones," Don't do this..."

But it was as if Rodney hadn't heard him; he was elsewhere, his eyes reflecting the hurt and anger of those terrible days.

"Do you know what you did to me? What y-you _took_ from me...", speaking to Aldonar now, he stammered, his expression broken... desolate. It was obvious to John that McKay was on the edge.

"Rodney...", John said, in a warning tone.

Anger bubbled up from somewhere, and McKay yelled,

"_Move_... now! I mean it, Sheppard... please, John", but the last couple of words sounded more like a sob.

"No"

He wouldn't let McKay do it.

As far as he knew, Rodney had never killed anyone in cold blood: John had... more times than he wanted to remember. And yet he did remember every time - did he want that for his friend?

No. It would change him, mark him, and John wouldn't stand by and let that happen. John Sheppard was a killer already, a soldier; he had no higher feelings, no sensibilities left, in that respect.

The equation was easy - Aldonar was an evil bastard and would never be anything else, and he deserved to die for what he did to McKay; but not by Rodney's hand.

He glanced across at Ronon; his face was a mask of... acceptance? Looked like the Satedan was behind the doctor all the way.

There was a shuffling sideways step and Sheppard turned his attention sharply back to the scientist; Rodney had moved... he had a clear shot again.

_Son of a - _

"Rodney!"

oOo

"_Rodney_!"

Eyes that had been so closely focussed on the old man, slid across reluctantly, on hearing his name spoken with such desperation.

Sheppard's eyes burned into his and Rodney faltered.

"I have to do this... I have the right", he said indignantly, feeling at once emotional and defensive.

"Yes, you do have the right, but still... don't do it. Trust me on this, this won't solve anything", said John, and his voice was patient... understanding.

Rodney hated the man in front of him... Aldonar, his jailer, his tormentor... But he trusted John, and John said, no. His hands wavered, a sound not unlike a sob welled up... the gun wobbled.

John said, very gently, "It'll be alright... I know it ..."

John smiled, Rodney's eyes blurred... and then several things happened.

Ronon's head abruptly whipped around, his gun coming up in one movement, leaving Rodney to wonder fleetingly, _why_... Rodney's blurry eyes flicked back to the old man - _shit_, there was something in his hand, where -

Someone shouted... sounded like, "Ronon!", or " No!"...

Another shout and it looked to Rodney like everyone was moving except him. Ronon crouched... Sheppard dove... and time slowed down to a crawl...

Feeling oddly detached, Rodney looked down at the handgun to which he was clinging doggedly. His eyes were drawn, too, to the long and fading scars that would mark his hands forever.

_All of this came from violence_, he decided... _all of it._

And some time the violence had to stop. He could make that choice and end it now. Choice was something this man had taken from him, but now he had it back.

In that micro second he saw it all so clearly, and the hands that held the gun began to drop. But as one weapon lowered, another was raised. There was a muzzle flash... and an ear-splitting sound that made Rodney flinch, and automatically he looked down at himself, searching for the bullet hole he knew must be there.

"John, how...?", but his words cut off sharply, because John had bowled into him, and he staggered. Sheppard's lurch against him, almost had him over, and instinctively he pushed back. With no sound John fell to the side, limp and still. There was blood on Rodney's hands, but it wasn't his.

He looked up to see Ronon in a crouch, blaster up. He'd just fired, and the old man lay on the steps, his chest smoking.

Finding his voice at last, Rodney called out, "Ronon!"

Awkwardly, he pushed Sheppard onto his back, trying to find the source of the blood. The colonel's right sleeve had a hole in it, ringed in red; not serious, it was, literally, a flesh wound to the upper arm... a through and through. Rodney's relief was short lived, though, when he saw a second wound in the side of the colonel's chest, high up, almost in his arm pit. This one was puddling dark red blood on the ground. He scrambled through his pockets, pulling out all the dressings he had.

His mind was racing, trying to take all of this in.

He looked up and saw Ronon speaking into his radio. Then, taking a flare from his pocket, the Satedan raced outside.

"Stupid...", he grated out, his eyes stung by hot tears, as he jammed dressing after dressing under Sheppard's arm. Each time he did so, there was a tiny moan from the colonel, his fixed and glassy eyes twitched.

"John? Can you hear me...?", Rodney's blood-stained hands plucked at the fabric of the colonel's jacket, in a half-hearted attempt to shake the man.

Their eyes met and they stared at each other; Sheppard's face was white and sweaty, and dirt and dust from the ground was pasted across his cheek. McKay brushed it roughly away.

Sheppard said, softly, "Don' call me... st-st-stupid.."

"Don't talk", responded Rodney quickly, trying not to notice the sticky blood on his fingers, and the way Sheppard's chest gurgled and wheezed.

Rodney could hear his own hitched breaths, recognised his own struggle for air, in the stuffy and oppressive room.

There were flecks of blood on Sheppard's lips, and he coughed weakly... wetly.

"They're coming - bringing the jumper", Ronon sounded out of breath as he returned. Rodney wondered if he'd used the flare to guide the others to their position.

But Ronon was speaking again...

"Help me get him up... McKay? _Rodney_!" , he suddenly realised that Ronon was shouting at him, in his face, up close.

Galvanised into action by Dex's sharp tone, and with his legs cramping under him, McKay scrambled around so that he could slide his hands under Sheppard's back and help ease the man up. Ronon pulled on John's good shoulder. Having nothing else for him to rest against, Rodney, positioned himself behind John, one arm gathering the limp and shivering body to his chest.

John's head flopped back onto Rodney's shoulder. He groaned and his face twisted; Rodney shushed him.

Ronon had draped John's arm over his own shoulder, effectively keeping it out of the way, and he was now fiddling around with more dressings, up in the injured man's armpit.

Rodney just held on and tried to breathe.

He caught Ronon stealing looks at him in between tending to the colonel.

"You okay?", he asked, a worried twist to his expression.

Rodney decided to go for truth; seeing as how he felt totally crappy. He was light-headed and sick.

"No... ", he answered truthfully.

Ronon shot him an appraising look, but could only try to reassure him.

"Don't worry. Lorne'll be here soon"

Rodney could hear the rip of fabric and the sucky wet sounds of blood, as Ronon worked, and he tried to drag his thoughts away from the horrible reality in front of him.

John's face was close to his and he could see that the colonel was still struggling to breathe despite their attempts to elevate him. Every breath whistled from his slightly parted lips; his colour was bad, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

Feeling helpless, Rodney found himself whispering,

"Shh... it's okay. You'll be okay... Hold on just a bit longer. You can do it, John... please..."

His whole world had compressed into those little words of comfort, and he was aware of drifting off, away from the here and now, until all he could really feel was John's head on his shoulder and all he could hear was his distressing struggle for breath.

Wait.. was he moving? No, that couldn't be... but somehow, when he opened his eyes with a jolt, he could see the dark ceiling of the chamber, where the candlelight reflected. John's head was still on his shoulder, but it seemed that the colonel was now laid out on top of him and the back of Rodney's head was on cold stone... it hurt.

Suddenly, Ronon's face was there, close to his.

"McKay? Wake up.."

"Wha'appened...?", he asked, in a small, thin voice.

"You just went backwards and cracked your head. No, stay where you are..." Rodney had tried to rise, feeling somewhat embarrassed, but a firm hand stopped him.

"You're better off down there. There's something wrong with you, too"

"Oh... how's Sheppard?"

"He's hangin' on"

Rodney blinked at the ceiling, then let his head rotate slowly to the left...

There, on the steps, where he had fallen just minutes before, was Aldonar. He was definitely dead; from this angle on the floor, Roney could detect no rise of the chest... no movement or sound. Yes, he was finally gone.

"You shot him..", he simply said.

Ronon sighed and said,

"Yeah... I'm sorry"

Rodney could have said a lot of things then. Like how he'd been dreaming of that moment... the moment when he would take Aldonar's life, and that Ronon had stolen it from him. He could rage against the cruel fortune that had led Ronon to shoot the man Rodney had sworn to kill.

"Don't be", he simply said, recognising instead the debt he owed to his team mate.

It was very quiet in the dim and cold chamber, and Rodney shivered in spite of being partially covered by a lanky colonel.

Ronon's head raised, as if to listen. Then he jumped to his feet and said,

"They're here"

Rodney thought he sounded suitably relieved.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading as always. The end is in sight now, soon our boys can rest...!


	20. Chapter 20

Short chappy today...

Happy Thanksgiving!

oOo

Someone has put something under his head; it's soft.

Around his belly button, though, a pain is growing. It's dull, disconcerting and beats with his heart; it makes him want to double up and moan.

The weight of the colonel is gone, but in its place there's another source of warmth; a coat, maybe.

He opens his eyes and is startled to see boots; with people attached to them, of course.

Teyla's boots are soft tan leather made by the Athosians and so _tiny_... she has feet like a Barbie doll. _Don't tell her that_... they are right by his head, shifting only slightly.

Lorne's are military issue; inky-black and shiny. Their toes point towards Teyla's. They are solid, capable, and very still... _maybe they're kissing_, Rodney thought, wanting to chuckle.

Ronon's, he sees after he rolls his head slowly sideways. He is standing opposite the other two, his feet shuffling impatiently. Surprisingly, he wears modern looking pull-on boots; huge size eleven's by the look of them. Beyond these boots, at ground level like he is, Sheppard's pale face comes into focus... his eyes are closed, but there is fluttering beneath the lids, so Rodney doesn't feel too alarmed.

The boots talk to each other...

"Okay, let's get them home. We'll need stretchers."

"Thankyou, Major." Inky-blacks race off.

Soft tans turn toward pull-ons:

"What about him? Do we take him prisoner?"

"No... leave him. I'll cut his bonds when we go... and then he can deal with... _that._"

They mean Aldonar... Aldonar lying dead on the steps; and it's enough to cause a quick wave of nausea.

He makes a little choking sound and suddenly faces hover above boots... concerned and familiar. He feels himself gathered up; it only hurts a little, and then he's moving smoothly through the gloom and out into daylight. He sees Teyla's face above him and thinks, _Teyla's carrying me_. The air is clean and it makes his eyes blur.

"You will be fine, Rodney", she says, and he believes her.

oOo

He crashes back to reality, to a pounding in his head like waves on the sea shore. Oddly, his hearing is suddenly hyper-acute; he hears the scratching of a finger dragged in the dirt, the scuffle of boot heels, the soft _putt_ _putt_ of a candle guttering behind him.

A clock is ticking slowly... or is that his labouring heart?

_Ow_! Someone just smacked him - hard - across the face... _son of a -_

"Sheppard! Look at me..."

It's Ronon, his face big and comforting. Behind the Satedan, a stretcher is being lifted up and away, and he wonders who it is.

His head feels weightless... his body, like lead... and if he wanted to move (he didn't) he'd be unable to.

Ronon says, "Stay awake, Sheppard"

Steel bands encompass his heaving chest. The pain has a taste... it's at the back of his throat; intense, oily and dark; it's in his chest and arm, too, burning... in a cold kind of way.

He wants to tell Ronon that he's bleeding to death. His life's blood is leaking out of him...

Can someone live through that? Can _he_ live through it?

Now there's motion - through space - and he's panicky... but he feels more lucid, more awake, more... in pain.

He smells the plastic and heated metal that mean he's in a jumper... he's going home.

Stretchers were never long enough for him, so his boot heels hit the deck before he does. So far away from his injury, but it still hurts his chest; so much that he actually _wants_ to stop breathing.

A pinch in his arm means Ronon is being the doctor, and he looks up to see a liquid-filled bag swinging above him.

"...think you're so... smart", says a breathless voice at his shoulder.

"What?", he's confused, but then he sees Rodney on the ground too. Teyla is by his side.

"Stupid...", splutters the now red-faced Rodney.

"Hey, I stepped in front of-of a bullet... f-for you...", he tries to point out, pain and suffering suddenly taking a back seat, to righteous indignation.

The only answer he gets from Rodney is a loud gulp; Teyla leans close and whispers something, to the scientist.

Ronon's voice now, "What's wrong with McKay?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is shock... exhaustion... or his sugar problem, maybe. I see no injuries, no blood. Hand me one of those...", and Teyla's hand reaches over both the injured men towards the pile of blankets next to Ronon.

Ronon's voice is raised when he hails the pilot at the front of the jumper,

"Lorne! How long?"

"Estimated time to Atlantis, twenty minutes", comes the quick reply from the major.

Ronon addresses Teyla once again.

"We'll be home soon, and Dr Beckett will tend them", he says, as he passes a blanket across.

John can see Rodney's face; it's pale, yes, and he is sprawled on the deck, looking done in; but he'd been unharmed... John had seen to that; he'd take that bullet again in a heartbeat.

The scientist is swinging the lead... having a laugh, being quintessentially Rodney McKay, and John is so incredibly glad for that. It just shows they've got the old Rodney back.

"What's wrong with you, then...? Ya big _faker_!", Sheppard says, with mock derision, but with a smile on his lips.

"I'm in _pain_, alright?", Rodney squeaks back.

"Who was it - who was it, McKay... who accused me... _me_ - of taking his pain? Huh? Huh?", and now his voice is pretty breathless, causing him to pant.

"That was before... before _they_ got to me", snaps McKay, but the anger doesn't quite work.

For a moment no one says anything.

"Rodney? Did they hurt you...?", Teyla asks urgently, and John sees her hand tighten on the scientist's arm.

"They-they kicked me... in the stomach... I guess", and the voice is suddenly subdued, going nowhere in the small craft.

John's head whips around,

"What did you say? Rodney...?"

But there is no answer, and Teyla is already pulling at the scientist's shirt where it's tucked into his pants; John hears the pop of buttons, too...

"Hey...hey! Watch the goods, darlin'!", slurs McKay, with a giggle, but his face is ashen.

Teyla's gaze is searching, and then her expression becomes grave, her eyes frightened.

"I think you are bleeding, Rodney... inside"

John can't see what she is seeing, the angle's wrong. But he can imagine it... all too well.

Worry battles with anger and he can't help himself,

"Why didn't you say something?" , he bursts out, suddenly wanting to hit something.

Again, though, there is no reply, and he is aware of Teyla pulling out the pillow beneath Rodney's head, and propping his feet up on one of the medical packs.

"God damn it, McKay..", he hissed, "..you can be such a _dumbass_!".

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!


	21. Chapter 21

oOo

There is something about industrial-strength pain medication that detaches you, very necessarily, from the here and now.

Harry's refuge from the reality of serious pain, was a tranquil but lonely place. He felt very still, very calm... his body had deserted him, and so his thoughts turned inward, as if he lived only within himself and the rest of his waking life had been a dream.

For a time he drifted like this, with no thought to what had happened or what was happening now.

Then, his mind seemed to re-boot, find its rhythm again... and images appeared.

He saw men lying dead... his men.

He saw his hands tied above him, motionless, and beyond them the open sky.

He looked down and saw his own feet shuffling along a path that was rough and wound through dank woodland.

He saw the colonel, head tipped down, his eyes hooded; concentration and worry on his face as his hands moved, busy with something Harry couldn't see.

He remembered a long walk, full of pain and confusion; McKay's face... and a question:

_"Where's Sheppard?"_

The urgency of this question, had further ones growing in his mind. Why was the colonel not with him? Where was he now? What had happened?

This was ultimately enough to force him over the edge, and he struggled his way back to consciousness, leaving the sweet comfort of pain-meds far behind him.

An immediate assault on his senses had him gasping, as his head threatened to explode; there was a beeping, then a whining... the smell of the infirmary and clean sheets from the dryer... footsteps and quiet words.

"It's Major Phillips - he's awake"

"About time too. We cut back the big guns - what, half an hour ago?"

"Yes, Doctor"

His hands felt cool cotton, rough blankets. But they were immobile, tied down and useless for anything more than scratting at the bed covers, which was exactly what he was doing.

"Wha - wh - wha - ", he tried to begin, but the marshmallow that was his brain seemed to prevent the function of his lips. They wobbled and he came out with strange cave man sounds instead.

"Quietly now, Major, try and be still...", said a woman's voice near his feet.

Slowly, as his senses returned, he began to realise he was largely unable to move; his neck and shoulders felt clamped to the bed.

Added to that, both arms felt leaden, effectively meaning he was capable of no movement above the waist.

Startled and anxious, his eyes fluttered open. Above him, there was a smooth ceiling and to one side an IV stand. His eyes roamed as far as they could go in all directions - an ill-advised activity that left him nauseous and dizzy - but his neck and head would not follow. A vague discomfort permeated his whole upper body.

Then he saw Beckett leaning into his static little world; a smile was on his face.

"Don't struggle, lad. We have ye in a neck brace amongst other things ", said the doctor.

"How's the head?", he asked, and shone a piercing white light into Harry's eye.

"That... n-not helping.. ", stammered Harry. Oh, yeah, still with the cave man speak...

"Okay, major. You're doin' well... a few broken bones, a wee bit o' surgery and a bump on the head. I'm giving you somethin' for that headache now..."

An image of Dr Zelenka, blood-stained and disoriented, came suddenly into his fuddled head.

"Radek...?", he panted, hoping it would be enough.

There was a small pause that concerned him a little, then Beckett was smoothly answering, "Everyone here is as well as can be expected, and you are not to worry, major - I mean it"

A wave of coolness was already streaming up his right arm, somehow reaching his thumping head. Pain faded, leaving in its place a warm fog... it was bliss.

"Better?", asked Beckett, and it was easy to hear the gentle smile in that question.

Harry felt himself smile also, and was just about to reply in the affirmative, when all the rest came back to him...

The colonel was missing...

Someone had left him behind..

That someone, was Harry Phillips, and this was the thought that accompanied him into restless and reluctant sleep.

oOo

_"Okay... Dr Biro, are y-"_

"I'm on it, sir"

Voices... raised voices, boots running and the clatter of wheels on the floor... waking was an uncomfortable process. For the first time he detected tubes that were in... places. He grimaced.

_"Is the OR ready? Get me BP's on both... now. "_

Urgent voices were now coming at him from all around the room... and he could see people... mostly medics. At his left he saw the back of Dr Biro's head; she was busy with something or someone.

But the main action came from some way past his twitching toes. Many paths diverged in that direction. _Damn this neck thing_, he thought irritably, _I need to see..._

He tried to say something, but, obviously, no one was concerned with him at that point, so he elected to save his strength and just listen for the time being.

_"Rodney!?"_

Blasted into his left ear.

_"Not now, colonel... "_

That was Biro's reply... she was hanging a bag on a hook, tubes dangling. A nurse was using scissors - he could hear the _snip_ _snip_ and the sound of tough fabric.

But, _thank_ _God_, it was the colonel; he was here, not lost anymore... not left behind.

_"That's not enough... I need at least three. Call in a donor if you have to."_

Beckett's voice now. Three? Three what? Three units of blood, of course... but for who? His ears strained, his neck muscles strained, paining him, but he wanted to see. The raw smell of blood wafted across to his nostrils.

_"Get the major moved, Hollie - in with the doctor, it's like a circus in here... Ronon.. Teyla... Lorne... if there's nothin' wrong with ye then go, we need the room" _

_"We're ready, Dr Beckett..."_

This call came from way over... somewhere that way, on the IV side of him... _there_.

He tensed his neck muscles and then, frustrated and angry at his helplessness, he twisted his shoulders convulsively..

_shit... oh.. oh-oh.. oh shit.._

He made a sound not unlike a sob; whatever the Faithful had broken or otherwise damaged, felt as if it was re-broken or damaged again. He panted softly, stars bursting behind tightly closed eye-lids.

He opened them and stifled a squeak; a face hung above his, inches from his nose. He knew this nurse, had seen her before...

"What did you do?", she asked quickly, eyes searching.

But she didn't wait for him to gather himself together in order to reply, she just kicked at the wheels of his bed and swung him around in a wide and sickening arc... he was on the move.

"Dr Biro, I think the major may have destabilised his fractures - shall I scan him?"

There was a loud tutting and a sigh... Biro's face appeared for a moment; she looked exasperated, like a schoolmistress confronted with a naughty child. She rolled her eyes, theatrically,

"That's all we need... yes, yes, go... and keep me posted"

As he was wheeled off, Harry felt suitably ashamed.

oOo

Well, at least now he could see; course, there was nothing _to_ see now.

He was in a quiet corner of one of the smaller infirmary rooms... next to a linen closet.

Opposite him, beside the door, was a deeply unconscious Radek Zelenka.

It looked like the scientist was having a quiet nap; his head on a pillow, no great swathes of bandage to be seen - only a small band-aid behind his right ear. Hands laying quietly on the coverlet, his chest rising and falling gently.

But he had been this way ever since, back on the alien planet, Harry had watched him, scalpel still in hand, slide sideways, out like a light against a supply crate. How long ago that was... he was unsure.

The nurse who'd tended to his... neck emergency, told him the doctor was indeed suffering from a swelling of the brain, as they had suspected. They had given him medication, and now the rest was up to him.

Harry re-settled himself gingerly against the pillows behind him. Thankfully, the scanner revealed no new damage. The nurse had made adjustments and provided extra pillows so that he could be more upright.

The neck brace and accompanying splints or whatever they were, stabilised the fractures he'd sustained.

One was in his left arm, close to the elbow. That had been open - a real mess - and had needed surgery and the insertion of some hardware. Another in his right wrist, was a simple break, and was encased in a bright yellow plaster cast. Worst of all though was his fractured collar bone; broken in two places, pinned and God knew what else, it was required to be absolutely immobile, hence his 'neck contraption'.

Harry moved his hips sideways, trying to make himself more comfortable. It was, frankly, exhausting to be sitting up, and he was beginning to wish he'd stayed where he was. The drip in his hand irritated and he was still weak as a kitten when it came to trying to raise his arms. The room was overly hot, in his opinion, and the lovely gown he was dressed in, stuck to his back and itched.

No news had come about the two other patients. He knew now that it had been Dr McKay who'd been taken into emergency surgery by Beckett; that he was the one needing the blood.

He knew nothing at all of Colonel Sheppard's injuries.

He considered the call button next to his right hand... but, no, they were busy, and anyway someone would be in soon to check on Radek and himself.

Until then he'd just have to wait.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading.

Special thanks to you wonderful reviewers, I really appreciate the time you take. x

P.S. Many apologies for medical inaccuracies...!


	22. Chapter 22

oOo

The four sole occupants of the Atlantis infirmary had been placed all together - easier to manage, said Carson - in one of its larger rooms. It was light and airy in spite of being without windows, illumination coming from a ceiling which glowed all over, mimicking day light pretty well.

When Rodney was wheeled in, Phillips and Zelenka were just being settled and he could hear wheels squeaking behind him signifying that Sheppard was bringing up the rear.

At least they had allowed him scrubs; he found the backless numbers so undignified and they only served to remind him of other infirmary stays he'd had. Somehow, Zelenka had impressed the right people and he was wearing _real_ clothes; lucky sap. Phillips and the colonel were still in gowns, which put a self-satisfied smile on his face.

He was now parked in a corner next to a small cabinet and chair. Looking across at the others he noted that they all looked asleep; the infirmary guy who had been pushing his small bed, locked off the wheels and left.

Carson arrived soon after and, coming to Rodney first, he quickly pulled screens around the bed. The doctor busied himself taking various observations and noting them on a chart. Rodney followed the doctor's movements nervously. Neither of them spoke. A kind of cloud hung over them - between them, actually - it had been there since their last troubled conversation, and Rodney could see he'd have to make an effort to rectify the situation.

Not knowing what else to say or how to say it, he went with simple, and broke the silence with,

"I'm sorry, Carson"

The Scottish doctor made no sign that he had even heard Rodney's hesitant apology; he fussed with the covers, checked the dressings on the scientist's knee and belly. Desperately, Rodney began casting around for something else to say.

He owed Carson more, that was undeniable... he could say how stupid he'd been, how confused; how he'd been foolish to -

"Apology accepted", said Carson suddenly, and Rodney saw the doctor flash him a quick inscrutable look and then turn away, stowing the blood pressure cuff in the pocket of his white coat.

"Carson, are we...?", but he couldn't finish, a lump in his throat getting in the way.

It didn't matter though, because Carson read his mind as he usually did, and answered with a patient 'yes'.

oOo

It was that awkward time; the time when you were still too close to your own life-threatening moment for Carson to let you out, but not so sick that you required any serious doctoring.

Each of them had his own corner of the squarish room. Radek, now spending little time in bed, had been given a comfy chair in which to nod away the hours like some aged grandparent. Everyone else was still more or less shackled to a plastic-covered mattress.

It had been four days since their rescue from the tower.

Yesterday, when he and Carson had talked, Rodney had asked,

"I'd like to get out of here... for a short while.."

He picked idly at the bed cover's edge,

"Being in here... it's kind of getting to me, you know?"

Carson's hand descended on his and squeezed; perhaps he understood.

"Maybe tomorrow - or the next day - you've been very ill... all of you"

"But we're getting better... yes?"

"Yes. Ask me again tomorrow, and maybe you can all go"

So, this morning he'd asked again... quietly, discreetly. But he'd gotten the blow-off... no staff available, and he was getting desperate; maybe it was his claustrophobia, but he could swear the room was getting smaller by the minute.

Sheppard's voice intruded upon his thoughts.

"Spill it, McKay, you're planning something"

The colonel was propped up on pillows, leaning slightly to the left, his right shoulder still held tense and awkward, above heavy bandaging. McKay thought he was looking better, but his voice had that tell-tale wheeze and breathlessness; his lungs were still healing.

"M'not", muttered Rodney.

"You're breaking out, aren't you? Lab or commissary?"

Trust Sheppard to assume it was his work or his stomach.

"Look it's none of your beeswax, so keep out"

"Well, actually, now it is my _beeswax,_ 'cos now I know you're going and I'll either have to try and dissuade you or go with you myself"

"How d'you work that one out?", whined Rodney. His bed was hard, his staples hurt, and he really wanted to get out from these oppressive four walls.

"I'm coming too", this was Harry's quiet voice, drifting up from across the room, spoken with closed eyes - Rodney had thought he was sleeping.

"What about him?", John nodded over to Zelenka. The scientist was out of bed, snoozing in a large wing-backed chair, making his corner look like a geriatric ward.

"Well, we can hardly leave him behind. It would be... irresponsible", answered Rodney.

John laughed,

"And this isn't?"

oOo

"Sleep well gentlemen", whispered the duty nurse, after she had seen that they were all tucked in for their afternoon nap.

On her way out the nurse stopped to dim the lights, and then she left, the door sliding closed behind her.

At first, all was hushed, only Zelenka's contented breathing broke the silence. Then, up popped a head...

"Ready to get out of here?", whispered Rodney into the silent dimness of the room.

"I'm in"

That was Harry.

"Present"

That was Sheppard.

Quiet snuffling:

That was Radek.

"Where are we going, anyway?", asked Sheppard in a hushed tone, befitting the mood.

"_Out_!", hissed Rodney impatiently, " They'll think we're napping, and they won't be back for an hour - I timed them yesterday"

"Yesterday?"

"Well, it's been on my mind, you know?", Rodney felt feeble and silly admitting that, but John only said,

"I know"

Sheppard heaved himself up to sitting, doubling over with a groan of discomfort, but making no comment.

"Okay... where are we... at?", he asked, sounding immediately breathless.

"Well, Phillips here is pretty useless from the waist up - no offence...", said Rodney, rolling gingerly to his right side to face the major.

"None taken.", Phillips lifted his chin, feigning disinterest, but clearly looking like he had taken some. Rodney saw that the man was sitting up in his bed and wondered in admiration how he'd got there.

"Nothing wrong with his legs then?", observed John, eyeing them beneath the covers.

"I can walk, I just can't scratch my ass", countered the major.

"Don't worry, hopefully you won't be required to do that", answered John, reassuringly.

Rodney nodded, then, at the Czech doctor.

"Now we come to my good friend the nutty professor here. He's been doped up to his eye-balls, and really has no business being in charge of anything with wheels. Unfortunately, in a cruel twist of irony, he is the most able-bodied of all of us, and so will be pushing you, colonel, in a wheel chair"

"I don't need a chair...", mumbled Sheppard, head down and sounding irritated.

"Oh, come on... get real! You know very well your lungs have all the capacity of a paper bag. You're riding, that's that"

But John wasn't finished..

"Why do I get him, though? No offence, Radek"

They all looked at Radek, maybe expecting a 'none taken' type comment; Radek looked up from his cozy spot, blinked his dilated eyes and just said "What?"

"Take a look around, colonel, he's the only pair of arms we got"

Rodney took a pause and looked down at himself; over-sized blue scrubs, one leg rolled up to allow for the thick bandage at his knee, the bulge at his waist where another dressing lurked. He sighed...

"Now .. me... I can't even get myself to the bathroom for a pee, so I'll need a chair also"

Sheppard put on a false smile - more of a grimace really - and sighed.

"This is not going to work... we don't have enough... arms", he said.

Rodney rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then said brightly,

"We get two chairs, and we lash them together - with catheter tubing..."

Both John and Harry made faces at that, exchanging sympathetic looks; it was only recently they had got rid of theirs.

"Radek can do it, can't you?", asked a hopeful Rodney, turning to the scientist.

Radek blinked at Rodney and yawned. He was dragging his eyes slowly around the room, as if seeing it for the first time and thinking,_ where the hell am I?_

"Rodney, Radek's not really at his best today...", said John, obviously trying to be diplomatic.

"We need Ronon"

"What about Teyla?", suggested Rodney.

"She'll just rat us out... she'd be on Carson's side", said the pilot.

Rodney nodded sagely, agreeing, but still thoughtful, then went on,

"How do we get the big guy here, though? We've no radios..."

"There's only one place he'll be this time of day: the gym. Phillips take Radek - bring Ronon back here"

oOo

Soon they were ready to leave. It had taken time for Harry to find his balance and he did a couple of rounds of the room to get himself warmed up. Having the neck brace meant he had to turn his whole body when he wanted to look at something or someone. One arm hung in a white linen sling, the other, also bent at the elbow, was tightly bandaged across his chest; he looked like a bowling pin.

Rodney thought, on the whole, the tall major looked okay; a bit wobbly, but at least wide awake. Which could not be said for Radek. He'd been sent to acquire a chair and had returned with one, only to plonk himself down in it, rest his chin in his hand and begin snoring.

"Maybe we could... I dunno - give him a slap?" said John, doubtfully.

"At least Radek looks kinda normal.", replied Rodney, "He's got clothes on for a start...", and Rodney's eyes slid across to take in Harry's appearance. Apart from a very short gown, Harry was butt naked - literally.

"That's... not nice...", said Rodney making a face, and raising a hand in a bid to shield himself from the major's nudity.

Harry took a look at himself and then flashed a sorrowful smile at the rest of them,

"Anyone want to help me on with my pants?"

oOo

"Take the chair... Radek'll push... it'll look like you're on your way somewhere", said John, as if thinking aloud.

"Somewhere like the gym you mean?" asked Rodney, sarcastically.

"I dunno, I'm making this up as I go!", hissed Sheppard, looking daggers at Rodney.

Looking quickly around, John swiped a clip board off the bed side cabinet and handed it to Phillips,"Here... it looks.. official"

Harry took it from him, placing it in his lap, which was now thankfully covered by a red plaid blanket; no one had wanted to go into pants territory.

_Now_, thought Rodney,_ to program Zelenka._

"You're going to the gym, Radek... understand? Say it back to me..", he instructed, with all the patience he could muster.

Radek drew himself up, standing behind the chair in which Phillips sat, and took a deep breath, saying slowly,

"You don't have to treat me like -"

"Oh, come on, just say it... please?"

Radek sighed and folded his arms, in a huff.

"Gym. I go to gym", he answered, glaring at Rodney.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading...

Feeling a bit bashed today, turns out I'm a wuss when it comes to negative reviews! But I'm going to toughen up and take it, after all, when you write fic you do put yourself 'out there'...

Thanks once again for your encouragement, I couldn't do this without you.

Oh, and if you do want to point out a mistake or two, go ahead, I don't mind, but I'd appreciate it if you did so via private messaging... Thanks!


	23. Chapter 23

oOo

Harry heard Ronon Dex before he saw him; or rather, he heard the sound of abused leather.

The Satedan was tough... Harry knew that ... fiercely loyal, he knew that too, and he was sure they were coming to the right person with their problem. Suddenly, the question of Aldonar's fate entered his mind; had the deed been done? Had Ronon carried out what he could not, and killed the son of a bitch?

But he and Zelenka had rounded the corner and were now at the open door of the gym.

"Hey...", said Ronon, as he noticed them. His fists were poised, about to hit the bag suspended in front of him.

He narrowed his eyes, obviously bemused at the sight of Harry in a wheelchair, accompanied by Radek of the Walking Dead.

"Hey", replied Harry, brightly, but faking it.

"W'sup?", Ronon asked, wiping off his hands on a towel.

Harry glanced around the training room, and, seeing no one else, he said,

"We could use your help... in the infirmary?... now?"

There was time for a heart beat... maybe two...

"Okay", Dex simply said, throwing the towel in a corner, and pulling on his jacket.

Now beaming happily, Harry looked around for Zelenka; there he was, slouched against the door frame, looking dejected.

"Come on, doctor... let's go", he said, gently, and Radek shuffled into position behind him.

"When we get there... can I sleep?", he murmured, so wearily that Harry felt a rush of sympathy for the poor guy, locked as he was in a battle against the might of Carson's sedatives.

"Soon, Dr Zee, soon...", he answered, he hoped, reassuringly.

oOo

"Let's not speak of this ever again, okay?", said Harry, who nervously cleared his throat.

Ronon had just helped him on with his pants - badly fitting cream scrub pants were, sadly, all they could find. Ronon had been the only person willing to assist. The Satedan nodded, grinning, and went to open the bed curtains.

Now was as good a time as any...

"I wanted to ask you...", he began carefully, but he was prevented from saying any more...

"It's done", Ronon said quickly, and their eyes met for a second or two of mutual understanding.

Harry sighed and gave Ronon a tired smile,

"Thanks"

oOo

"Where is it we're going, exactly?", yawned Radek.

"I'll tell you when we get there", snapped Rodney, tired of being asked.

They were all ready to go, assembled in the dimness of the infirmary room, looking guilty. Jackets had been found for both Rodney and John and, of course, matching blankets from the Pegasus Home for the Geriatric and Infirm. Phillips was thankfully wearing pants, but apart from making him suitable now for children, he looked even more like a bowling pin.

Ronon, pushing Rodney, led the way silently, through the back double doors, towards the transporter. Radek and Sheppard followed them and then Harry tottered along at the rear.

"Okay, this is what we'll do. Sheppard, you and Radek go through first and then we'll follow...", whispered Rodney, when they had all rolled up to the doors of the transporter.

Ronon broke in quickly, with an...

"I'm going too"

"What for? I don't think -", began Rodney, feeling a bit uppity about _his_ escape, and how it was to be done.

But then John interrupted him,

"I get it: chaperone..."

Ronon's brows creased; John dismissed it.

"Never mind"

Then he turned to Rodney, placatingly,

"He's on guard duty. He'll come back"

"Where to?", demanded the Satedan, looking at Rodney.

"South hallway, level one.. and don't be long, time's awasting", said Rodney, still sulking.

They piled into the small space, Radek, who was, after all, just a nap waiting to happen, immediately leaned his shoulder comfortably against the big Satedan. Ronon looked down on the top of his head with what looked like some distaste, but said nothing.

He reached across and selected their destination, and then they were gone.

oOo

It had been five minutes; ample time to zip across Atlantis via transporter and disembark on the other side. Rodney tapped the buckle of his watch strap against a wheel rim.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

"Would you stop that, please?", asked an irritated Major Phillips.

"Come on. They've had long enough."

It wasn't easy to maneuver into the tight space of the transporter, but they managed to get themselves in, and Rodney stabbed a finger at the console.

There was the usual bright flash and then... there they were, looking out onto a hallway, where something was obviously going on.

"What do we do?", whispered Harry.

"Stay absolutely still. Maybe she won't see us", said a hopeful Rodney.

A few paces from the doors of the transporter, Teyla was standing firm, hands on hips and glaring at what looked like a terrified Ronon. Rodney saw a nervous smile grace the Satedan's face which immediately fell away at Teyla's continuing hard stare. Ronon was babbling to Teyla, hands moving expansively, arguing their case with gusto.

John's chair was to one side of this tableau and Rodney could see it was moving, oh-so-slowly away from the scene, his hands barely pushing against the wheels. His face was pinched in concentration, head low, trying to be invisible; and Radek... Radek was... _swaying_?

Oh, yes, swaying... and doing so, very markedly right now - and -

There you go... he was out, falling sideways into the solid bulk of Ronon. Rodney saw his eyes were closed, face slack and peaceful, off to the land of nod at last.

As the scientist was cushioned slowly to the floor, by a concerned Teyla and Ronon, they failed to notice a wheelchair and its dark-haired occupant, swiftly wheeling away down a darkened corridor.

Rodney's hand slapped the console again and they were back where they had started.

"What now?", Phillips asked, as they exited awkwardly, and went to hover in the doorway to the main corridor. Warily the major swept his eyes back and forth. "Is it all off?"

Rodney tried to look suitably outraged,

"All off? You're joking, right? The others were sloppy... they got caught.", he huffed, trying not to think of the way his hands were throbbing.

"Besides, there's other ways to get where we're going, it'll just take longer..."

Rodney sat up straight as a stair rod, and went on with pride,

"... and they've still gotta catch us... _pah_! Amateurs, what a bunch of -"

But he stopped when he noticed the major's long stare down the hall way. He followed his eyes and saw...

"Oh , you have _got_ to be kidding me...!", spat Rodney.

They were chattering to each other, heads together, occasional laughter rang out. They were in uniform, going to their shift maybe, and they were coming right towards them.

God, what were their names? He could try to reason with them, charm them...

_What am I thinking? charm them? Get real._

The two women saw the men, there in the doorway, and stopped. It looked quite comical when they both folded their arms at exactly the same time, in that deliberately displeased manner, as only nurses could.

_Would they speak?_

Apparently, they would.

"Doctor... Major... what are you doing?", asked the blonde one, mildly, but with a very false smile.

Rodney cleared his throat,

"The major, here, is taking me for a walk... what does it look like?", he went for snarky unpleasantness, thinking it was as good an approach as any at this stage.

He shifted in his seat uneasily.

Both ladies looked from the wheelchair to the tightly strapped Harry, who beamed at them, and, being unable to wave, raised his brows, amicably.

_Trying to look charming, maybe_, thought Rodney.

"And how, exactly, is he _pushing_ you, doctor?", came the innocent question, along with a flutter of golden eye lashes.

Rodney's mouth opened and stuck like that, his mind desperately searching for a glib answer. One did not come.

"Let's call Dr Beckett, shall we, and find out why you're so uncharacteristically lost for words, Dr McKay", said the dark-haired one, smoothly, and Rodney thought how they must be breeding a new kind of nurse these days, tough and unyielding, just to deal with him.

He looked desperately at Harry; the major looked back... his cogs were turning.

"Get ready to buzz off, McKay... ", he hissed into Rodney's ear, as the nurses conferred in hushed tones in front of them.

"Huh..?", and he caught the tall man's meaningful look.

John had gone, Ronon had gone, Radek had gone...

Now it looked like it was the major's turn:

Rodney wanted to yell, 'strike!', because the pins were going down - or, to be precise, one pin. Being the large man he was, Phillips seemed to fall spectacularly slowly, in a controlled descent that left him wedged, in a very handy fashion, across the narrowest part of the hallway.

The nurses flapped and tutted, touching their ears in unison, ready with the tattle-taleing.

From the floor, Harry's eyes met his and they seemed to say, "Fly... be free...", and so, Rodney was off, clumsily forcing his wheels around with stiff and burning hands.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your reviews and encouragement, you guys are the best!

Next chapter coming soon!


	24. Chapter 24

oOo

In spite of himself, the way his heart beat mightily and the growing pain in his hands and belly muscles, he felt a smile break across his face; and it was a real smile, for no one but himself.

It wasn't for Kate, to show how well-adjusted he was... not for Carson, to mask the pain he was in... not for John, to pretend that nothing on earth could hurt Rodney McKay, and that he didn't give a shit about anything.

He hummed down the deserted hallway, and now the smile was a big, wide grin. He wanted to laugh... out loud, in a hysterical outburst that would probably lead him all the way to a padded cell. He chose to giggle like a lunatic instead.

He didn't care, though; didn't even care that his break for freedom would be short-lived; something of a hollow victory...

He was, after all, still weak and afflicted. He hurt in more ways than he thought he would, and it turned out that he missed his plastic covered mattress and fluffy pillow. He'd soon be found and escorted back... but that would be okay; now he could handle it...

He'd made his point, as much to himself as to the others.

And his point; what was that?

Simply, that no one could hold him, keep him down, make him stay where he didn't want to be, take his choices away.

He was free, and for the first time in many weeks, he actually believed it.

There was hope... inside him; a believing in good things again, in friends that stick around, promises made and kept.

They had come for him - more than once - and they would always come for him.

Bright light assailed him, because at last he had reached his destination... having flown there, it seemed, by way of pure joy. The wheels he rode upon wobbled as they found the uneven grating beneath. He noticed his eyes were blurry and he wiped them, slowly, with hands that tingled.

With the smile still fixed to his face, he looked out.

He was on a low, metal platform; small, bounded by shiny railings, not unlike most of Atlantis's balconies. This, however was not a balcony... it was a service area for pipe work and de-salination conduits. He'd discovered it whilst on a job a while ago. It jutted out and was surrounded by open ocean on three sides.

Balconies were nice, yes, but this, in Rodney's opinion, had one up on a balcony; it didn't hang above the city and overlook the waves beneath, it was low level, and had one side sloping gently down to the very surface of the ocean.

This was no place to come in a storm, the waves would probably have you over, but on a calm afternoon such as this, with the sun shining lazily on a sparkling sea, it was... stunning.

It was then that he raised his squinting eyes and saw it; and it was more beautiful than ever.

The sky... his perfect sky.

"Was it worth it, then?", said a voice.

"What? Oh... yeah... it was."

He looked across at Sheppard, tucked into his chair, his dark hair blowing across a still pale face.

"You knew I'd come here?", he asked.

"Where else would you go", answered John.

"You look tired", Rodney said.

Sheppard shrugged.

"I can sleep later. Phillips?"

"Went down in the line of duty", said Rodney, and at Sheppard's alarmed expression went on, "He's fine"

John nodded, shifting gingerly in his seat.

"How long do you think we have?", Rodney asked.

"Not long. Best make the most of it"

Rodney just nodded and they both looked out in silence for a minute or two. Then Sheppard turned his head and looked at him closely.

"You think you'll be alright?", he asked.

Rodney considered the ambiguity of the question, but knew what his friend meant; was he going to be able to move on from all this and be the old McKay again?

"I don't know... maybe."

Rodney moved himself closer to the railing, feeling warm sunlight on his face.

"All this... I don't want to lose it.", he said quietly.

"I never cared before. But now... Atlantis, missions, the team... my team... it's just too good, John... too good to lose."

He felt his face harden and his mouth become a thin line.

"I won't lose it... I won't, and I'll do anything I have to do to keep it."

_Even tolerate that p.t. woman_, he thought, _and bare my soul to Kate._

"That's... good, really good", Sheppard nodded, wincing slightly, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Rodney felt the first twinge of alarm and asked slowly, "You okay?"

John laughed; a harsh, painful sound that had little to do with amusement.

"These wheels... hard work to push them... think I... _did_ something..", he rasped, sounding almost guilty.

Then Rodney saw the dark smear on the pilot's left hand, as he withdrew it, trembling, from his open uniform jacket.

Giving a long-suffering snort, he wheeled his way over to be at the colonel's side.

"You do realise... he'll blame me - Carson'll blame me for this", he complained, tutting loudly, and they awkwardly clashed wheels as he leaned across both chairs to pull, impatiently, at the pilot's jacket.

"He'll make my li-"

Rodney's breath caught in his throat. He looked up at Sheppard's pale face, sweaty and pinched, and then back down to the whole mess of blood that was sticking his gown to his side.

"Sheppard...?", Rodney demanded.

"Not feeling... so good", the colonel breathed.

"_Shit_! What the hell did you do? My God...", and without another thought or glance at the ailing colonel, Rodney began to pull around his wheels in a bid to reach the hallway, and help. But the chairs had well and truly meshed, their spokes caught, and no amount of pulling and squirming and panting could move them.

With nothing else left to do, Rodney threw aside the blanket and struggled unsteadily to his feet. Swaying and trembling, doubled over his staples in a vain attempt to prevent them splitting open, he felt like a wreck in a stormy sea.

Sheppard was panting roughly, also doubled over and listing to the side... the little gaspy sounds he was making, worrying Rodney immensely.

He needed help, and Rodney would have to get it.

He could do this, yes, he could... _stagger and stop, stagger and stop..._

_Stagger and lean_... against the wall.

He was beginning to think the whole courageous I-can-move-my-own-wheels thing, had been a bad idea. His belly seemed to be in the grip of some evil spasm, making it impossible to do anything but double over even more, and groan, pathetically.

"Help!", he shouted weakly, at a loss as to what more he could do. Someone might hear him... let's face it, there'd been plenty of attention earlier, when they hadn't wanted it.

His legs, overtaxed by two full minutes of holding him up-right, decided then to give out and he slid gracefully down the shiny wall onto his butt. His bandaged knee throbbed.

Somehow, his rapid descent caused his eyes to close and a buzzing to begin, somewhere between his ears. It grew louder, almost drowning out the rapid foot falls ringing across the metal deck.

Shadows passed in front of him, there was the whooshing of disturbed air, voices raised, hurting his head.

His last thought, before he let the buzzing overwhelm him, was, _I am in so much trouble..._

oOo

The buzzing was still there, but now it was more of a beeping, assaulting his right ear. Also from his right, came the soft tap of buttons being pressed, and the click and scribble of a ball-point pen. He smelled antiseptic, metallic and strong and it sat thickly on his tongue, making him want to puke.

Rodney knew he was lying down, and he was mostly warm, apart from his mid-section which felt like it was encased in a block of ice.

He opened his eyes with a groan and wished he hadn't, as he stared down at himself in the glare of a bright infirmary lamp. He was mostly naked, which in itself was not good, but as well as that, and to his horror, his belly looked like a mini pizza with extra tomatoes... it was not pretty; what looked like a neatly folded dinner napkin covered his... embarrassment.

The nurse, who'd been on his right fussing with the machine-that-goes-beep, put down her clip board, and snapped on gloves.

She caught him looking at her, and she smiled.

"You shouldn't be awake yet, doctor, go back to sleep... everything's alright", she assured him.

She moved to pick up a small basin and cloth, and explained,

"Just cleaning you up a bit, now Dr Beckett's fixed you up. You made quite a mess of yourself, you know", and her voice was gently chiding.

Not knowing how to respond to that, he simply said nothing.

"And before you ask... the colonel is going to be alright too. Look", and she nodded to indicate the bed on his left.

He rolled the heavy boulder that was his head, and there was Sheppard sleeping peacefully, next to him. Fresh bandages, starkly white and reassuring, wrapped his chest and bulged beneath his right shoulder. He was mostly naked too, apart from a strategically draped sheet, which, to Rodney, seemed only fair.

"Am I in trouble?", he whined feebly, as his eyes began to close.

"Never mind that now", was the warm reply, "Just sleep"

So he did.

oOo

"Y'know I should have yer balls for this..."

_What? Balls?!_ Alarmed, he came fully awake in a snap.

Carson was standing by his bed, arms folded, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

Rodney looked down at himself; at least he was no longer naked, covered as he was by bed sheets from the waist down, and a nice clean scrub top, from the waist up. He was in no real pain, just an itchiness where the bandage was, lashed securely to his waist.

On his left, Sheppard was still there, now awake and sitting up, same as Rodney. It looked like he was enjoying the show.

Next to the colonel, reclining in matching plastic chairs, there was quite the crowd of people; Radek, looking surprisingly awake, Ronon flicking through a golf magazine, and Harry Phillips - still trussed up but milking it, surely - because he was being fed tiny green grapes by a gently smiling Teyla.

"Everyone okay?", Rodney asked sheepishly.

"Yes, but no thanks to you.. _idiot_.", answered the doctor, but the words had no sting to them.

"Hey, not so much with the idiot...", he protested.

He cleared his throat and the assembled crowd lifted their heads obediently. Had they really been waiting for him?

"Look. Everyone. I haven't said it... how I appreciate... I mean how I feel about - well, what I mean is, I never had the chance to say anything... to you... and I should have... said it."

Gulping nervously, he looked at the faces around him. They were very still, expectant. They were the faces of his team, of his friends, and, he realised, it just didn't get any better than this.

He felt a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him, so he quickly said,

"Thankyou", hoping that all those things he wanted to say but couldn't, would be bound up in that small word.

Teyla nodded, her eyes sparkling, whilst Phillips tried to say, what sounded like, _you're welcome_, around a mouthful of grapes. Radek gave him a wink and yawned, Ronon tilted his head with a grunt and grinned. Carson blushed, then tutted and fiddled, unnecessarily, with his IV.

Sheppard turned to him and just smiled.

Rodney smiled back...

He would be okay, everyone here would make sure of that.

He didn't like the word 'forever'; it was unreliable, false... but this was how he wanted it, how he wanted to live his life. This was the place he belonged, where he would stay... and these were the only people he wanted to be with, here on Atlantis, their City in the Sea...

...their home forever.

oOo

Epilogue

For the attention of : Dr McKay

Copies to : All Science Heads of Department. 

Document PE 1 (attached)

Re: Preliminary Examination Recovered Item No. 49556343/A

Doctor,

Please find attached, details of initial findings.

Although zpm depleted significantly, the device to which it was attached, is, we surmise, most likely operable.

However, it is our belief at this time, that said device is, in actuality, _incomplete._

Recommend returning to site of recovery for further investigation.

---------

Dr J. Michaels, project leader.

The End

oOo

Well, that's it! Thanks for sticking with me, it's been so much fun...! I probably should have tried, but I just couldn't resist a final whump on our two boys, hope you enjoyed it.

To everyone who read, thankyou... and to everyone who reviewed, thankyou...

This was my first story, only ever going to be one chapter, but you encouraged me to go further, so I'm grateful.

All I have to think now is - what next???

xxx


End file.
